


Finding Eden

by UserImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Body mutilation, Empath, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, M/M, Mind Games, Multi, Murder, Night Terrors, Original Character(s), Reader-Insert, Sexual Violence, Threesome - F/M/M, Torture, Trust Issues, Wincest - Freeform, implied self harm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UserImpala67/pseuds/UserImpala67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during Season 5 of Supernatural.<br/>Original Female Character (written as Reader) is a Hunter with strong but undiscovered Empathetic powers.<br/>The beginning of this story takes place in Ireland, as she seeks revenge for the murder of her family at the hands of Lucifer, but ends up captured by demons during her hunt for a Devil’s gate.  Graphic, violent sexual assault and torture occur.  She is rescued by the Winchesters who take her into their care upon finding out she is wanted by Lucifer.  It takes her months for her body to heal from the attack.  During this time the three of them form a very strong bond.  The boys care about her a lot, and eventually realize they want to make her happy, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paradise Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long story. Long as in…. I don’t even know the ending yet and I wrote the first seven pages like it was nothing, and I enjoyed just writing all that back story for the character/reader insert.  
> The smut/fluff etc. won't be till MUCH later in the story, after she's been taken in by the Winchesters and well on her way to physical recovery. If you enjoy it, PLEASE leave feedback/comments! 
> 
> (After so much work and time on this I've decided this story is book worthy, and it very probably won't be finished till it reaches book length. Hopefully I can keep you all ensnared that long. I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I have and continue to enjoy writing it.)  
> Sincerely,  
> E.C.
> 
> ~Em. Colt~

Chapter One: Paradise Lost

Someone once said that spring on the Shannon River, nestled in the very heart of Ireland, was referred to as “The Great Beginning”, and as you crouched in the reeds near the water’s edge it was easy to understand why. Your ears were filled with the sounds of life stirring as the morning sun bathed the land, awakening the many creatures inhabiting this natural paradise. Birds of all colors sang to one another, flitting across the cloudless sky above. 

Every day you had spent, for the last week, traveling along the ever changing terrain of the Shannon River, had felt almost magical. You’d seen maybe three boats the entire time, all far off, leaving you alone in this amazingly diverse patch of un-touched landscape. It made you feel as though you were the first person to venture through, and it was breathtaking. 

You’d been followed by a pair of curious dolphins at the beginning of your journey, much to your surprise they even stayed with you the first two nights camping on the river bank, hidden amidst the trees. As if they knew what lie ahead for you, they had departed with musical chitters of encouragement. Their presence had been comforting, and you found yourself looking for the familiar break in the water as you continued each day.

The wildlife of the Shannon were obviously not used to the invasion of man. For your presence here was treated with curiosity, not fear. The most bold would even venture up during the night and get cozy near your sleeping warmth, only to bound off in the morning as you began to stir. The bats were a constant companion once dusk began to take over, you welcomed the flutter of their leathery wings and high pitched night calls, thanking them for keeping your camping space relatively bug free. 

You couldn’t help sharing your MRE’s with the creatures who were sharing their home with you each day. The red squirrels in particular had a soft spot for cleaning out the finished packages. At least they enjoyed the stuff. 

You had always loved animals, and being in nature felt like home, made everything seem like a dream. You could almost forget why you’d traveled cross country to Ireland and were trekking along this particular river in the first place. You wished it had been a pleasure trip. 

Unfortunately you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone somewhere simply to enjoy yourself. Perks of your profession. The thought made your lip curl and your mood slowly became dark.

You were a Hunter. A seeker and slayer of the evil in this world. One of the few who instead of hiding from the monster under your bed went looking for it, who saw the monster in the closet and followed it, one of those crazy bastards that caused more bumps in the night than they heard. You had stopped being afraid of the dark when you realized that you were a creature of it. While you had been hunting since the age of ten, you hadn’t been fully prepared for the onslaught of recent demonic activity. It had spiked suddenly, nearly tripling in what seemed like days. Despite your mother and older brother being Hunters, seasoned Hunters, the three of you had been caught in a situation that only you had walked away from. 

A month ago you’d been following a lead that brought you to a town that was much too Stepford Wives for your comfort. Your brother, Caleb had informed you and your mother of a house, heavily guarded right in the middle of town. Of course you could deal with whatever was going on. Never back down.

You’d been so stupid. All of you. So naive, so unprepared. Your world suddenly seemed so small and insignificant as you were taken down and brought before real power, God-like power. Satan. Lucifer. The Fallen Angel. 

ANGEL. Demon. Monster.  

While your mother fought and yelled and made threats and your brother demanded answers, you simply knelt on the worn rug you’d been forced onto, eyes glued to that incredibly human face of the man seated before you. The chair he sat in was a simple, wooden kitchen chair, but somehow his presence, the way he sat in it with such confident authority made it seem like a throne. 

The Devil had taken in the three of you almost dismissively until his blue, ghost-like eyes met your awe-struck ones and he had smiled. It should have made you sick but it was so beautiful you couldn’t help but lean towards him straining on your bound hands, held in place behind you by one of his servants.

Your name echoed through the air as your big brothers deep, familiar voice cut through your trance like a knife and you blinked stupidly for a moment, shaking your head, feeling fuzzy all over. “Please, look at me!” Caleb shouted again, bringing more clarity with the painful noise right next to your ear. 

Your vision came into focus on his face and you saw him smile that smile of relief you’d seen a million times, the one that made you feel like you’d done something right, the one that showed you he was proud of you, the smile you’d looked forward to during every training session, the one you received each time you managed to beat him at Soul Calibur or when you’d finally learned to disassemble and reassemble your weapon without help, the smile he gave you after you’d hit the bull’s-eye during archery that one time when you were fourteen and you never missed again. 

You had tried reaching for his hands, your whole upper body jerking towards him and startling the demon holding you causing him to lose hold of your bound arms and pitching you forward onto the floor. Unable to catch yourself you’d whined as the carpet left a burning line across one cheek. It didn’t matter though, you were so close to Caleb now, he was struggling formidably with the infested vessel holding him, trying to reach you, to help you. 

The bones in your shoulders were suddenly yanked out of socket at the same time and you nearly blacked out, hanging by your abused limbs while struggling to get your knees back under you as you were held in place once more. Caleb’s struggling became animalistic, and he finally managed to break free, his balance allowing him to half crawl to you, his much larger body protectively leaning over yours, his head cradling your own since his hands couldn’t hold you to him. “It’s ok.” He had whispered in your ear encouragingly, the softness of his thick hair that was the identical shade of your own brushed against your cheek comfortingly. You tried to believe him. 

When you mistakenly raised your eyes to your captor again you knew just how foolish you really were. The fire burning in those ice-colored pits made you physically recoil in terror. The voice that spilled from those wide, human lips was sultry, but cruel. “I don’t like sharing my toys.” He had stated as if you were all just having a nice chat over tea. The meaning wasn’t clear in your head until you felt Caleb’s entire body tense, his head fly away from you, eyes wide, mouth stretched open in pain and you watched in horror as your mother mirrored him to your left, her mouth opening and closing as if gasping for air. You heard the unmistakable snap of fingers just before their bodies exploded into pieces.

The room was filled with a fine red mist and your mind reeled, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The fleshy pieces of your family covered the living room floor and splattered the walls. Something bitter touched your tongue and you realized you’d had your mouth open during the obliteration of your brothers body in front of you. Your mind finally caught up to the sensations of your body and you vomited onto the carpet in front of you, dry heaving once you had nothing left in your stomach until you felt like you might pass out. Your eyes closed and you stayed that way,hanging by your dislocated arms in complete defeat, unable to even cry. 

Why?! Why?! Why??   

“Clean her up.” You’d heard that voice command before slipping blissfully into the dark.

 

The time that passed was lost on you, as you were bathed, your shoulders re-set and your clothes replaced. 

Everything was numb. 

Nothing mattered. 

You had been escorted downstairs and noticed absently that the place looked as if nothing had ever happened. The carpet untainted, the walls no longer sprayed with bloody chunks of bone and flesh. Maybe you were going crazy. This was just a dream. 

The familiar dread washed over you and froze your feet to the floor as you were ushered into the dining room to see HIM seated at the head of the table, presumably awaiting your arrival. A sharp jab in between your sore shoulder blades forced you to continue into the room, but you wanted to run, you just couldn’t find the courage. Sensing your internal struggle Lucifer held out his arms towards you in the same way a father might comfort his daughter and gave you a genuine look of sadness. 

“I’m sorry that had to happen, with you as witness. Please, my dear, do not fear me, I give you my word I will not harm you.” 

Every one of your senses screamed for you to run, to fight, to flee. But you found your eyes connect with his again and it was as if your mind were simply erased. 

Nothing else mattered except serving him, pleasing him. Mechanically your legs brought you to his side and you knelt in front of him, resting one side of your face against his thigh and staring up at him in blind adoration. His fingers brushed strands of soft hair from your face and he ran the long digits almost tenderly along the length of your scalp, after a minute simply stroking the side of your head as if he were petting a dog.

Time didn’t matter anymore. 

All that mattered was pleasing your father. You sat at his feet and followed him wherever he went. His touch made you crave more, but it was never more than chaste kisses and soft hands. 

You vaguely remembered yourself once having whimpered a complaint as his hands once more left your skin burning with need.  One second you’d been standing the next you were on your back, pinned to the floor under the weight of his incredibly strong vessel.  

His hard body pressed roughly against your own so tightly your breath was forced from your lungs painfully and he’d smiled a wicked smile, breath hot and dangerously low in your ear as he whispered, 

“Someday my pet, I will have you, all of you, in every way you can possibly imagine and more.”  

At the involuntary shudder that ran the length of your spine his voice deepened and he nearly purred his next words,  

“Yes, I will make you scream my name until your throat bleeds and still you’ll beg me for more.  This I promise you.  Not now.  But when I chose, and only then.  And I always keep my word.” 

And with that promise he, along with all his black-eyed children, were gone, and your mind and body were yours for the first time since the brutal murder of Caleb and your mother. 

And you wished he’d killed you too.

 

You had regained control of your senses exactly four weeks prior. You hadn’t stopped killing demons since. 

The rumors were that there had been sizable demonic activity in and around the ruins of seven churches just off the Shannon River in Ireland. The Ruins were christened “Clonmocnoise”. 

Your mother had always told you “Evil attracts evil.” The more powerful the magic in a place the more evil could spawn from it and would be drawn to it’s power. From the stories you were hearing you were sure there was a Devil’s gate open in one of these long-forgotten stone shells of a church. Your job was to confirm or deny the existence of a gate and bring word back to your mothers superior, a Hunter whom you’d never personally met but had worked closely with both your brother and mother on occasion.  If they had trusted him then that was all you needed to know about the individual. 

If it was up to you you’d have just attempted to close the damn gate yourself but you’d been trusted with finding out as much information as possible about the now cursed and unholy ruins and relaying it to your superiors since you were the only one crazy enough to volunteer to check it out on your own.


	2. The Thunder Rolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys! I lost internet at my house, and I work full time so I'm having to do this at the library -_-
> 
> I'll be using these * throughout the story in case there's something I think might need clarifying, and it will be referenced at the end of the chapter in the notes section. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! Lots of gory awfulness to come in the next chapter, and then.... dun dun dun.... enter the Winchesters! ^_^ Much love <3
> 
> ~Emery

The flute-like whistle of a red-shank alerted you to the demons presence just in time for you to flatten your body into the marsh ground. Almost silently you not one, but three inhabited meat-sacks broke through the brush at your back and you watched with bated breath as they passed close enough for one booted foot to tread over the fingers of your right hand. Thankfully your hand sunk into the sponge-like, muddy ground and they continued unaware. Before moving to follow them you said a silent thanks to the Winged-Guard-Dog of the marsh as the bird went about his business, oblivious that he’d saved your life. 

Making sure the demons were well ahead of you before leaving your hiding place, you scanned the entire area, hyper-aware of your surroundings now, uncomfortable at how close of a call that had been. //Get your damn head out of the clouds.// You’d become a damn perfectionist at berating yourself over the past weeks.  
The swampy ground sucked at your black, booted feet and the grass drenched you up to your armpits with morning dew. After nearly an hour of slowly trekking over uneven, swampy terrain, your calves burned from the effort of slogging through the marsh, your body was spattered with mud from knees to the top of your head and you let out a huge sigh of relief as the ground finally gave way to hard packed earth, covered in short, mossy grass. 

Covered as you were in mud, water and sweat you realized you should have been hot, the near noon day sun shining down on you. But the closer you got to the broken outline of the ruins, the colder it got, until your teeth were chattering and your skin was covered in pimpled gooseflesh. The two- mile patch of sky above the ghostly white ruins of Clonmocncoise was encompassed in ominous, circular, gray clouds and you could even see occasional flashes of lightning amidst the anomaly.  
How in the hell there were no weather vans, or news reporters out here was beyond you. This kind of shit wasn’t normal; anyone with two eyes and even a spark of intuition could see that. The abnormal weather made your skin crawl and you continued even more cautiously if that were possible. You’d reached the outer edge of the property, the boundary marked by the beginning of the graveyard, striking yet broken tombstones and nearly five foot tall stone Celtic crosses stuck out of the earth in a beautiful, macabre testament to the long dead. 

The demons had made their way directly to the worn path on the far side of the main cemetery, heading towards the small patch of trees that lay directly before the ruins themselves. The tombstones offered well needed protection from any wandering eyes and you greatfully hid among them, continuing on until you’d reached the thicket. Through the leaves you watched the possessed take the stone steps through the four foot stone wall surrounding Clonmocncoise and continue their journey directly towards the Castle Delacey. 

While you had been expecting to find them holed up in one of the towers, it made more sense that the castle, though not within the walls of the ruins, would be their destination. It was the largest compound, and most importantly still-for the most part-intact, which meant they needn’t worry about humans spotting them out in the open. The seven edifices within the aged stone partition were all in varying states of decay. Only Temple Connor remained nearly whole, still upholding it’s roof. The Round Tower which was nearest to the Castle as well as Temple Finghin, closest to the River Shannon still stood, but it seemed they were mere hollow shells of the grand structures they had once been. The other buildings ceilings had caved in long ago, creating gloomy remnants of the beautiful masterpieces. 

As the demons continued out of sight behind the Temple McLaughlin, you turned your attention to gauging the distance from your spot in the woods, to the first temple, as well as the distance between buildings. While the initial run for cover would be out in the open completely, it didn’t bother you seeing as the demons were all, presumably within, or around the castle. You hadn’t spotted any others guarding the main ruins themselves, and your worry was centered in how exposed you would be once past the main cluster of buildings and how the hell you were going to get to the Castle without detection.  
//Now’s as good a time as any.// Your brain supplied sarcastically, and quickly checking your surroundings you cautiously entered the ruins themselves, pausing quickly behind two man-sized cross tombstones before making the yard dash to the shattered wall of the smallest and closest Temple, Cairan. You pressed your damp body to the cool stone, palms and one side of your face scraping against it painfully, though the feeling of protection outweighed your physical comfort.  
Your reprieve was short lived and you forced yourself to sprint across open ground twice more before finding cover at the last crumbled church that lay between you and the Castle looming before you. Your breath was ragged and you had to wipe sweat from your eyes. It stung and you tried wiping at your face with your t shirt, finding with irritation that the white cloth was just as saturated with sweat. The time you’d taken cost you. 

“Well, well.” A husky male voice purred appreciatively. You finished scrubbing your eyes and glared at the six foot something meat suit sauntering towards you from the ruins of the adjacent temple. //Fucking Christ. It had to happen sometime I guess.// Your internal dialogue continued while your mouth spat a sarcastic, “Take a damn picture black eyes.” Unfortunately you were unable to tell much more than his gender, height and dark hair color due to the broken blood vessels in your eyes and the sweat still finding it’s way into them from your face causing even further irritation. You took a fighting stance, blinking a couple times and putting your trust in your other senses to track his movements. “Calm down ma’cherie.” He grinned. You could tell through your limited vision by the white patch that suddenly appeared where his mouth should be. “Don’t try and pass as some kind of gentleman demon. I’m here to end you, your buddies and your little Devil worshiping operation.” Your bravado seemed to amuse him even further and he crossed his arms. Or at least you thought that’s what he was doing. Damn great time to go blind. “I hate to inform you that there will be no fighting as far as your concerned, Y/N.” He started towards you slowly and your brain went into overdrive. “How do you know my name?” Your question came out as a hiss and you pulled a blade from it’s sheath on your hip, it’s ivory blade flashing reassuringly. 

“Oh, all his children know the names of his pets.” The demon answered, and you thought you heard disgust in his voice. His? He didn’t mean… Lucifer? Your mind blanked and rebooted a couple times before you managed to get control of yourself. //FUCK! //  
No one should have this kind of control of you.  
“I’m no ones pet. Least of all some slimy demon in a meat suit.” You played dumb. Or tried.  
“Father is no mere demon.” The asshole was still slowly advancing on you, pushing you away from your prior destination.  
“Stop moving!” you yelled, voice echoing off the stone walls around you. You emphasized your words by stepping forward, brandishing your blade. He apparently knew what damage the weapon could deal and stopped. Thankfully your vision was clearing, and you took in every detail with a trained eye. His hair was short, jaw defined, stubble lined his face and his body was that of a soldier, all solid lines, muscles bulging through his blue *under armor V-neck and legs covered in military issue cargo pants. He was on the thin side, like his meat suit needed fed but had been denied sustenance. “He’ll be so happy to see you Y/N. And I will be rewarded for bringing you in.” The demon continued. 

Man, this guy liked the sound of his voice. “Shut up. I’m here to kill. Not talk.” Your muscles tensed as you prepared to attack him, but he’d only been distracting you. You noticed his head nod and eyes flicker to the right of your face just in time to dodge a blow from behind aimed at your temple. The fist connected with your ear instead and left your vision blurry for the second time that day. Your right arm came up and back, latching onto your assailants arm above the elbow and used the momentum to pivot your body around and bring your knee up at the same time that you pulled them toward you. You were rewarded with a solid impact to their solar plexus and heard a feminine grunt as the wind was knocked out of her. Using her surprise to your advantage you aimed a blow to her face and heard bone and cartilage crunch as her pretty little nose broke under the impact, a bright spray of hot blood spattering both of you. 

“Fucking bitch!” she screeched, bringing your victory to an abrupt halt as her anger and super human strength combined and took over. The blonde demon gave you a mean back hand and you were thrown sideways by the impact, feeling as though you’d just face planted into a bus. Before you could even gather your feet under you the bloodied and vengeful meat-suit took hold of your left hand and twisted it back towards your face at an impossible 45degree angle. A horrible high pitched scream cut through the air and continued as a series of animalistic unintelligible noises that you realized were your own as every metacarpal bone in your wrist snapped with the ease of a candy cane being broken between a child’s overly eager teeth.

“ENOUGH!” The male voice behind you sounded angry and you were briefly aware of his body coming into contact with your own as he pulled you to your feet. You struggled at the contact and felt a iron strong arm close around your neck, hands coming together behind your head to complete the choke hold. The blonde glared at you and vanished as you struggled pitifully with your one uninjured hand, nails clawing at flesh that felt hot and dead at the same time. Grey spots clouded your vision as your face lost all color.  
“Lucifer is waiting.” sickly warm breath smelling of tobacco and blood washed across your cheek.  
Your brain registered these words even as you slipped into unconsciousness.  
//Just kill me.// 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
NOTES:

* Under armor is a brand of active wear clothing.


	3. The Devil In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Female Heroine (or not), finally wakes to find herself once more imprisoned by the Devil himself. 
> 
> Torture.  
> Sexual implications.  
> Worse things to come.  
> Original Characters and Backstory in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: PLEASE BE ADVISED THIS CHAPTER HAS GRAPHIC PICTURES DEPICTING TORTURE AND NUDITY!!!!!  
> DO NOT READ IF YOU CAN NOT HANDLE GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE!!!
> 
> Now, I'd like to say,  
> Thank you all for your input on this chapter! I really appreciate your feedback and I hope though the poll results were varied that you are all satisfied! <3 MUCH more to come don't worry my pets <3 <3 I hope you like the inclusion of graphic pictures to go with the story. As you can see, I used many different women for the reader, not focusing on hair color/piercings/tattoos/etc. so that it can be a reader insert for everyone. I know not everyone is model skinny like that (I certainly am not -_-, however, she has been starved, and is very much underfed and in horrible condition, so, that's how you'd look too. Please leave feedback, it is the highlight of my day. ^__^
> 
> ~Em
> 
>  
> 
> *Harpagophytum is also known as the Devil's Flower.  
> *The Clavicle and Scalpula are right under the collar bone, towards your shoulder, the blade penetrates the soft spot between her shoulder and chest.

 

_**Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.** _

 

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/blodwall.jpg)

 

Ugly yellow florescent light made its way through your closed eyelids, sweat, blood and mascara effectively gluing them shut with sticky black sludge.  The low hum of a generator cut through the stale, dank air which was so thick with energy it set your teeth on edge, alive and sinister causing your skin to feel as if you were covered in insects. 

The disgusting thought caused you to tense up, your eye’s struggling to pry themselves open.  You tried to bring your hands to your face and were met with sharp, cutting pain in both wrists and then in both ankles as you simultaneously tried to move your legs.  Your breathing quickened, panic bubbling up into your throat as your realized you were shackled by hands and feet, not only that but your hands were brought together above you, shoulders pinned painfully behind your head, the grinding against your skin bit cold and hard signaling the use of steel cuffs, fucking demons and their flare for the old-fashioned. 

Thankfully now that you were conscious you found you could relieve some of the tension on your wrists as your bare feet adjusted to balance most of your body weight.  Eye’s still glued shut your mind started racing again at the feel of something slick and wet pooled beneath your feet, which, much to your growing alarm you realized were spread shoulder with apart underneath you and shackled tightly to the whatever was at your back. 

As your senses slowly came back to you the dread only intensified.  Your back was pinned against what felt like wood. 

 **FELT**. 

You could _feel_  the abrasive scraping against your shoulder blades, the unforgiving surface cold and damp against your hips, ass and thighs.

You felt the grain against your skin, your bare skin!  Some sick fuck had trussed you up naked in some hellhole and you couldn’t even open your fucking eyes!

You'd seen enough horror films to know nothing good could come of the situation.

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/shutter.jpg)

//Calm the fuck down, Y/N.// Mentally berating yourself had become second nature.  

//Stop acting like a greenie on their first hunt.  This isn't the first time you've been captured. ---

First time I've been hung up naked and presented to the Devil himself on a fucking altar!! ---

Stop it! Shut up and think!//

The morose, self-depricating inner monolouge actually helped the Hunter in you gain control of yourself, mind clear, urging you to take a deep breath and find a way out.

That was a mistake. 

As soon as your lips parted they split open painfully and that breath you’d attempted only caused your dry throat to burn resulting in a fit of coughing, your tongue felt like a brittle lump of coal in your mouth and you started to wonder just how long you’d been here. 

It felt like weeks since your mouth had tasted liquid. 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/lips.jpg)

 

 

No. Your mind warred with your emotions while you logically tried to piece together how long you could have possibly been captive. 

72 hours was the longest a human body could really sustain itself without water, though you could possibly make it up to 8 days if you’d been at full strength, and it was humanly possible to survive 3 weeks without food, though it would take months to recuperate.

The way your bones were poking sharply into the wood at your back and digging into the cuffs on your wrists and ankle bones you definitely hadn’t been given any food. 

Some mercy that was since you were sure they hadn’t and wouldn’t let you relieve yourself in any way had you needed to use the bathroom and you were covered in enough disgusting bodily fluids without having to add urine or excrement to the mix, you failed to suppress a shudder. 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/skinnbones.jpg)

 

 

It had to be close to three days without water too. 

The way the skin on your lips ripped open at the slightest movement also meant your surroundings had to be hot. 

This also led you to believe you were no longer in Ireland.  It was early spring there, not hot or humid but breezy and cool. 

Your tongue ran the length of your bottom lip, greedily lapping up the steady oozing blood seeping from their cracked surface. 

As much as it repelled you, blood was liquid, and you could desperately use some right now.  

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/lick.jpg)

The wine colored liquid coated your tongue in coppery warmth and soon you were able to swallow a few times without much pain. 

Taking the brief moment of reprieve to talk the damage to your body you find yourself grimacing.

Your left ear was still ringing, and the eardrum had to be damaged as you heard very little else on that side.  

The place over your left eyebrow, just above your hairline throbbed dully and your hair was plastered to the side of your face, dried blood from the wound crusted thickly all down your cheek, you could feel it flaking off as you attempted to open your eyes again, succeeding only in causing yourself more pain, eyelashes feeling as though they were being ripped out.

Your severely damaged wrist was completely, blissfully numb, most likely due to some form of lidocaine anesthetic. 

You could feel the swelling of your larynx, most likely from the demon that’d choked you into unconsciousness days prior. 

Prick.

Just when you’d allowed yourself to let your guard down for a second you heard the sultry purr of a husky male voice next to your head, breath whistling across your uninjured ear and filling your nose with a much too familiar scent of roses, **harpagophytum and cinnamon. 

“Still thirsty for the best drink I see.”

You’d never forget that voice.  The last words you’d heard that voice say were,

“Someday, I will have you, all of you, in every way you could imagine,

screaming my name until your throat bleeds, this I promise you. 

Not now, but when I chose, and only then.”

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/watching.jpg)

It was a promise.  You knew then.  As you knew now. 

You’d never be free from that sinfully sensual, deadly and enticing voice, that made your knees week and your heart beat falter. 

It terrified you and sickly turned you on.  Made your mid feel dirty yet made your body beg for more. 

 _ **HIS**_  voice turned you into a rabid animal, at war with yourself. 

Your hands had balled into fists unconsciously and your nails clawed at your already abused skin, punishing yourself for these sick feelings of lust and taking out all your hatred for the God-like Angel next to you. 

Your eyes struggled again to open and you let out a pitiful moan when they remained painfully closed. 

Without warning ice cold water poured over your head, cascading without mercy onto your face and covering your naked body, skin erupting in gooseflesh and you nipples hardening painfully.  The waterfall didn’t stop and you found yourself gasping for breath while also attempting to gulp down the much needed refreshment, ending up coughing as it choked you with the onslaught of liquid. 

Your mind snapped you out of your panic and you used the flush of water to cleanse your eyes as much as possible, finally able to open them, you shook your head from side to side clearing your vision and cutting off the steady flow to your nose and mouth so you could take a few unhindered breaths. 

You must have done something to appease the Fallen Angel, the Devil, as the water ceased being poured onto you and you were left shivering and exposed with no way to hide your frozen body. 

Your long eye lashes blinked several times as you attempted to fully clear your vision and were rewarded with an only slightly hazy view of your dungeon like surroundings. 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/brokeneyes.jpg)

 

 

Unable to look at your captor you took in the most important things you could think of, the room, most likely an abandoned warehouse or condemned house from the dank smell, thick musty air and peeling, broken wallpapered walls, the drywall punched in along the walls in random places, pipes hanging out of the ceilings like metal bones jutting down from exposed sickly yellow flesh.  

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/abandoned.jpg)

 

 

There was a generator in the corner, which was the source of that constant humming you’d been hearing. 

It looked old, rusted and about to blow up at the slightest touch, though in reality it was probably so old and broken it could withstand anything.    

No windows, one door leaning awkwardly off the top hinges as if someone had tried to pull the thing off the wall and only partially succeeded. 

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/mold.jpg)

 

 

It smelled like mold, and the ceiling was spotted in black patches, thick stagnant water dripping from at least three bubbles in the plaster, signs of water damage long since ignored. 

Black mold killed people in low-income housing all over the States. 

Apartment managers didn’t give a damn if some poor family got sick and of course Medicaid programs only cover so much cost for medical bills. 

The mycotoxins from black mold become lodged in the mucus membranes, sinuses and the lungs which then causes a burning feeling, breathing problems and bleeding in the lungs. 

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/moldd.jpg)

It’s a long painful way to die, you knew, you’d seen it in some kids who lived across the train tracks behind your old house.  Sammantha Hardy, age 6, lived in a building where she and her brothers and her mom – taking care of three on her own- had all breathed in the toxic black mold mycotoxins, or ingested them, then spread them to one another through their skin or contact with one another’s eyes.

Eventually the mycotoxins found their way into each child’s blood, as well as Mrs. Hardy, who try as she might, couldn’t get any help from the Apartment Management, or the doctors, who cared more about money than her children. Their heart’s were damaged, and blood clotted in their veins, leading to eventual internal and external hemorrhaging.

You'd never forget that little girls face, her sickly hands clutching her tattered doll, eyes begging you to help, though you'd been helpless in end, forced to end their suffering in the only way you knew possible. Your brother, sweet Caleb, had helped you carry their limp, lifeless little bodies to the briar patch beyond the old paper mill, where the ones with no money burned their dead, assuring their loved ones were able to move on in peace to the afterlife. The smell of burning flesh had been branded into your senses long ago. But it didn't make it any easier to set fire to their decaying corpses. And in the end it had been Caleb, taking the matches from your shaking, weak hands and igniting the gasoline puddle surrounding them.

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/hardy.jpg)

 

 

Caleb found you curled in a ball in your bed, sobbing, replaying how you'd held Sammy as she had died.  Your mother had been caring for them as best she could, with her limited nursing knowledge, and two teenagers willing to help. You knew there was nothing any of you could have done. But the guilt remained. Mrs. Hardy lived the longest, wasting away in her bed while your mother tried to ease her suffering. It was the sobbing that was the worst. Her horrid sounds of despair, knowing her children were gone. No mother should have to see their child die. And she had outlived all three. 

It had been one of the darkest saddest moments of your life.  You had a personal vendetta against big league money-grubbing politicians and doctors who wouldn’t give a second thought to help that family ever since.  Fighting Demons just made life easier.  Someone had to pay for the lives of the innocent. And when the cross-roads demon came to collect poor Mrs. Hardy’s soul, after her children died –in violation of the contract she’d made- her life for her children’s, you found out firsthand what monsters Demon’s really were.   

This place was obviously infested with black mold. 

And you’d been breathing those toxins since you’d been here. 

They were no doubt taking a great toll on your body already.  Might as well be dead. 

Only one wall had anything on it, and as your bloodshot eye's took in the sickening display before you you uselessly tried to cringed away from the carnage.  

Hung over a decaying blackened hole of what could have been a fireplace was the skinned, bleeding head of some kind of deer.  

It's antlers were covered in peeling felt, skin hanging off of them like some kind of morbid decorations.  

The skull showed ghastly white in places where blood had dried off completely.  

The eye sockets stared, black and empty at you as if the soul of the creature still remained trapped in that horrid severed head,

staring into your very heart and holding you accountable for the brutal way it had perished, the thick smell of butchered meat

clinging to your nasal cavity like a poison.  

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/deerhead.jpg)

 

Blood splattered the wall surrounding it as if it had been gutted and skinned right there and tacked up in the wall after some sick blood bath of a ritual.  

The poor animal must have had a long, excruciating death.

“While I do enjoy listening to that sharp mind of yours tick darling, I disapprove of your negativity.”

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/lucifertouch1.jpg)

The voice snapped you back to the moment with the sharp sting of a cold blade slicing open a 4” long between the ribs on your left side. 

“Aaahhh!!” your back arched off the slab of wood and your wrists endured even more damage as you attempted and failed to pull yourself away from the bite of the blade which sliced into you multiple times as you screamed in vain, cursing the tall, smiling, blonde figure beside you. 

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/lacerations.jpg)

 

 

Your newly adjusted eyesight finally fell on him, teeth gritted together so painfully you thought your teeth might snap. 

And you wished they would, to bring you a different kind of pain.

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/face2.jpg)

 

 

“Now, now, darling.  Don’t do that.  I do so love that mouth of yours.” The Devil admonished, almost gently, those dull blue eyes found your lips and took in the sight of them, broken and bleeding, dripping with watered down sweat and blood as if he were staring at a particularly lush piece of fruit, or a tempting piece of the best candy. 

His forked tongue snaked its way out of that viper like mouth, swiping across his pouty lips as he eyed your own with sick pleasure. 

A strong, calloused hand made its way towards your face and try as you might you were unable to pull away, your head only pressing painfully into the table at your back, arms keeping you in place as he placed his thumb on one cheek and forefinger on the other, gripping painfully tight, trying to force your mouth open, to break the lock jaw you’d set in defiance. 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/face.jpg)

 

You managed to hold your jaw shut until he added his middle finger to the others and pressed so hard you were sure your teeth were cutting open the inside of your mouth from the pressure and you cried out, at the same time opening your mouth unwillingly, gasping in pain. 

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/beg.gif)

 

“Good.  Keep that pretty mouth open, no use in breaking your teeth over something so trivial.  I have much planned for that delicious maw of yours.” 

The way he talked about your body like an object made you want to scream at him, but all you could do was hang limply from your bonds as his eye’s caressed your skeletal naked form appreciatively. 

  [](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/skinbones.jpg)

“You are so beautiful. 

So broken and flawed as you are, you still manage to make this human vessel stir in so many ways. 

Even as superior as I am to you, I FEEL a certain…. Allure…. It is intoxicating, your scent, the fear, the blood pulsing through your veins. 

 

 

Your life, just beating below the surface…” the knife cut into your jaw line and down your neck without warning and he brought his mouth to the wound, slurping obscenely as the hot sustenance poured freely from the line he’d made from below your ear down to the dip in between your collarbones.

He spoke over your ridiculous mewling as if he couldn’t hear your pain.  “All this life, just begging to be taken.  Tasted.  Enjoyed.” 

 

The feel of his tongue, moving in ways no one’s should be able to, licking and pressing against your open laceration with desperate vigor triggered your gag reflex.  

 

However you were denied even that right as one huge hand closed around your inflamed throat, and the stiletto blade sunk into the spot right above your scapula and below your clavicle bone on your right shoulder, so fast the impact into the wooden slab at your back made a harsh knocking sound as the tip buried itself into the wooden exterior effectively pinning your body even further to the unforgiving surface.  

 

“Please, _kill me_.”

Your voice betrayed you as the words were whispered, and as your vision faded to black once more you heard rather than felt his tongue’s lapping cease and he whispered darkly,

“Oh pet, you remember my **promise**.  _I always keep my promises_.  What fun I have in store for you.  We’ve only just begun.”

 

[ ](https://userimpala67.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/bloodbam.gif)

 


	4. Bloodletting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty dark guys!  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> And look forward to seeing Sam and Dean in the next chapter!
> 
> ~Emery

_ _

 

_Where am I?_

_Who am I?_

_What’s that sound?_

_Why can’t I feel my legs?_

_Am I dead?_

The answers to your questions eluded you as your mind cleared just enough to register one thing.  

Pain. 

PAIN.

SO MUCH PAIN!

You tried to open your mouth to scream but your lips wouldn’t open, a tearing sensation followed by the warm, wet trickle of fresh blood blossoming from your lips and down your chin caused your futile struggling to cease as your hunter instincts tried and failed and tried again to make some sense out of the situation, bring clarity back to the foggy haze that had become your reality, pain and abuse mental and physical overwhelming all of your senses for so long your life had become a wrecked mash up of puzzle pieces and useless information floating around inside your head, buried somewhere in your subconscious afraid to reveal anything of use to betray the other Hunters, the only family you had left. 

Sucking air through your nose brought on a new kind of agony, the cartilage and bone having been damaged significantly sometime during your torture.  You guessed by the throbbing pain and the gaping split on the bridge of your nose that it must be broken. 

//Guess I’m not winning any beauty pageants anytime soon.//

the sarcasm brought a sense of familiar courage and a small glimmer of strength back into your body.  Taking another set of steady breaths your defiant gaze finally came to rest on the still, ominous figure in front of you, his captivating blue eyes calculating and cruel.  Seeing the new spark of defiance in your face he seemed to read your mind, pointing the crimson covered blade in his equally bloody hand at you in a disapproving gesture. 

“See, that thinking right there, that little ‘wit’ of yours is what got that pretty mouth of yours all ‘tied up’ darling.” Lucifer tsked as if he were a teacher merely scolding a misbehaving child, mouth opening in a feral grin as you processed his words and the feeling you’d experienced upon attempting to speak. Your eyes widened, chest heaving faster and faster as you moved your lips, once again feeling the tugging of multiple wounds stretching, the rough brush of thick thread sealing your lips closed. 

The mere thought of him sticking a needle so patiently through your flesh over and over, sewing your mouth closed with all the precision and detail of a psychopathic surgeon created an image and your gag reflexes triggered. 

Whimpering was all you could manage as the thread cut into your skin again, mouth attempting to open to vomit non-existent fluids and food that you’d been deprived of for days. 

“Oh yes love.  While I find the noises you make so very intoxicating... hmm... that tongue of yours is sharp as your mind.  You were out for some time. I had to put you in a cell for at least a day, until you came back around, I did have much fun with your body in there though…” his words seemed distant as if you were reading them not actually hearing them, your mind wouldn’t let you remember what he meant, blocking out memories too dark, wounds too near to fathom in your current state. 

The tall blonde pushed himself off of the table he’d been leaning against, each step slow and measured, as if he valued the cringe of every footfall as you tried and failed to press yourself farther into the wood at your back, away from his body, his eyes, his words and his snake tongue that wet his bloody lips in anticipation of tasting even more of your life essence. 

“After your words became too harsh, too- sarcastic… I started on your legs, and you passed out so quickly.” He let the words sink in, and walked beyond your line of vision, moving something, dragging it across the floor and you began to struggle again, afraid of what new horror he might bring into play, what new device he had to torture you with. 

Your movement ceased as he came back into your sight and your brows furrowed in confusion momentarily before registering what he had in front of him.  Your captor pulled the weather worn, yellowed body mirror in front of you so that you could see your entire reflection in it’s marred, cloudy surface. 

The image made your breath stop, your heart skip, your hands clench, entire body trembling at the horrible ugliness and sheer vast brutal horror of what once passed as what some would consider a beautiful girl.  Your legs and arms were spliced open with innumerable horizontal lacerations, all cuts that made it looks as if you’d been cutting yourself for years, a plethora of self harm that no one would believe was caused by anyone other than yourself. 

The cuts were also deep, gaping open and exposing the fatty tissue of your muscles underneath, blood ran down your too thin legs and pooled at your feet, ankle and wrist bones so prominent from lack of nutrition you looked like a skeleton.  Bruises blossomed along your ribs, and the sound of them cracking nagged at the back of your fractured mind.  Your face was carved with cuts, neck ripped open from the devils teeth, tearing at your flesh, prickling sensations tingling along your skin as memories of the abused flashed into your mind. 

Your lips bruised and swollen from the wounds were sewn shut in a crisscrossed pattern, a twisted beautiful rendition of some kind of macabre doll.  Your eyes were black and bloody, scarlet trailing down one side of your face from your hairline, though you were unsure what wound it was from or how you’d gotten it.  Your neck, chest torso and even your hips were spattered with dark hickeys and you barely managed to control the urge to vomit again at the thought of his mouth devouring those parts of your body.  No one would ever love you now. 

Satisfied with your evaluation of your wrecked body Lucifer put the mirror back and came to rest against your prison.  “See now whenever you look in the mirror, whenever you touch yourself, you’ll be reminded that your are mine.  Totally, irrevocably and completely, there is no part of your body I haven’t… explored with my hands, my mouth…” he emphasized his words by running that cold, slick forked tongue across your chest, admiring his handiwork and reopening closed wounds, greedy hands grabbing your breasts roughly, fingers pinching and pulling on already pert nipples. 

His ministrations made you sick, and your were in so much pain and shock that you began to cry uncontrollably with sobs that you couldn’t release from your closed mouth, awful, animalistic sounds of anguish wracking your body, eyes stinging as the salt from your tears dripped into each wound.  You embraced the pain, welcoming it, numbing your senses until it was all you could feel.  Blissful pain kept your from having to experience the way he mutilated and violated your body.  And then finally the blood, tears, screams and pain melted away and there was nothing, nothing but euphoric darkness.


	5. Fearscape Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a character building chapter, and includes the previously mentioned older brother of the Reader/Main Character, Caleb.  
> Please see end notes for more on the story as it develops.

 

 

 

 

 

My arms finally reached my brothers tall, solid figure, my small hands gripping his cotton shirt so tightly I was sure the fabric would rip but I didn’t care.  I’d reached him, _my_ Caleb was  alive!  His powerful arms encircled my shorter frame, holding me tight.  My face buried in his chest as his chin rested comfortingly on the top of my head and I breathed a sigh of relief, inhaling his masculine, cedar scent. 

But something was wrong.  My nose burned painfully as I inhaled.

Caleb had smelled like memories of running on the beach at night and curling up tucked into his warmth under the stars, of the countless times we’d just sit in the shower fully clothed after a particularly wretched hunt, covered in blood not our own, knees and foreheads touching, hands held tight as we let each other grieve for the lives lost at our hands, but giving each other the comfort of knowing we’d never have to go it alone, that the guilt was not shame and there was no blame to be had, the scent of lying shoulder to shoulder on the ground, exhausted from sparring but grinning like idiots and teasing one another over our injuries. 

Even when we had no place to live, when we were on the run, when everyone else was dead or gone, we had each other.  Caleb’s smell was that of home.  Because wherever he was… that was where safely I could belong.  

What should have been the scent of safety was nothing of the sort.

The aroma that slammed into my senses was that of copper and brimstone, melting flesh and burnt hair and decaying corpses. 

He smelled of **Death**. 

I tried to pull away from his body, hands pushing against his chest as I tilted my head to look into the face I’d memorized since childhood.  I was met with eyes clouded white and inhuman, wide and unfocused, his jaw was slack, and he’d dropped his hands to his sides, my questions were left at the edge of my tongue as my brothers head suddenly snapped towards me, expression darkening and becoming dangerous as his pupils expanded, black bleeding into his irises until the familiar sea blue had disappeared.  In seconds the young man before me bore the eyes of a Demon. 

“No!!” with horror I stumbled backwards but I was too slow.  I felt his firm, strong hands close around my throat, those slender fingers once so gentle, so kind, that dried my tears and tickled me when I was sad, those fingers dug painfully into my trachea, swiftly collapsing my windpipe with a sickening crunch, blood pooled into my mouth and came gushing out my nose, air bubbling through my nostrils as I attempted to breathe, lips moving with words he’d never hear.

“ _Sunshine_ , hey, hey, wake up.” The pounding in my head receded and my heart slowed at the soothing voice calling me out of my bad dream.  My eyes opened to the concerned, but comforting, handsome face of my best friend.  My older brother Caleb was my protector, my confidant and the one who fought off my nightmares too often to keep track of. 

My earliest memory is of Caleb, with his shaggy, soft locks of hair bouncing over his sparkling eyes, carrying me around on his shoulders and our mom yelling at him to be more careful. 

We never had a dad, and our mom, while she tried to provide for us, and made sure we were properly educated, was never around much due to her Job.  Most brothers might have let someone else take care of me, but not Caleb.  He fed us, kept us clean and made up stories to tell me every night before bed.  We moved around too much to make friends.  That’s probably why we grew so close. 

Most people disapproved of our close bond.  There were always the whispers when he let me hold his hand in public or in shelters when he made it clear we would share a bed, even if he had to sit next to it all night, he wouldn’t leave me alone. 

The dirty looks got worse the older we got, but we didn’t care.  The notion that either of us ever had a sexual thought or feeling about the other was absurd.  Caleb was a part of me.  Being with him was like breathing, or walking, or drinking water… it was normal, natural, life. 

Looking into his bright eyes now I felt his presence of Safety wash over me, my tense body relaxing into his touch as he brushed away the damp, sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead with a cool cloth.  I rested my head in his lap and sighed.  “I’m sorry.  That one was really bad.” I whispered into his pajama clad knee, trying to block out the images of my vivid death at his possessed hands. 

“Don’t apologize Sunny.” He scolded not unkindly.

“Want to talk about it?” I shook my head, though I knew he only asked out of politeness, knowing I’d rarely want to relive my night terrors. 

“Good.” His voice suddenly sounded annoyed and the cloth unexpectedly dropped unceremoniously onto my face, his long legs pulling out from under me abruptly and displacing my head onto the cot. 

My hand snatched the wet towel off my eyes angrily and I sat up watching his back and snapping “What the hell is your problem?” in confusion at his uncharacteristic rudeness. 

“I’m sick of babying you. It’s a wonder you’re even still alive, without me you’d have been dead the first cold you caught after getting wounded on a hunt. It’s fucking pathetic.” 

His voice was even, cold, cruel, and completely serious.  He’d turned to deliver the verbal blow and I waited to see black eyes, a demon face, expecting this to be a dream, but his eyes… his cerulean gaze was that of my brother, my friend.   I felt like he’d punched me in the gut. 

“Are you drunk or something?” the question sounded stupid, but what other explanation could there be?

“No.  This is the clearest my head has been in years _Sunshine_.” The sarcasm in the way he used his nickname for me burnt. 

“I’m done with being your chaperone.  Sick of pretending to care when I don’t.” 

I sat on the edge of the metal bed frame staring at him like he’d grown another head.  “Where is this coming from?” my voice shook, betraying me as tears threatened to fall from my eyes. 

“Call it a moment of clarity.” Caleb curled his lip in an uncharacteristic display of disgust, watching emotions flood my expression.  “Don’t make it worse for yourself kid, suck it up and move on.  I already have.” His hand pulled the door open and before I knew what I was doing I’d leapt off the bed, blankets flung aside as I ran at the door, arms outstretched, reaching towards his retreating form, crying desperately,

“Caleb!”

The door slammed in my face and my hands slammed into the wood, but instead of the expected impact the slid right through and I lost my footing, pitched forward into absolute darkness, and then I was falling. 

“Sunny!!” Caleb’s voice, wounded and filled with fear broke through the void but no matter how much I flailed my body I wouldn’t stop falling, I couldn’t see anything. 

“Caleb!!!”

“Sunny help me!!  They have mom!”

“Mom??! Caleb! Where are you?!” my throat was raw, tears streaming down my face, my stomach in knots at the fear of suddenly hitting solid ground and the terror of what was happening to my family. 

“SUNNY HELP ME!!!!”

Then the screaming started.  I knew my brothers voice, and I knew what he sounded like in pain but I’d never heard the agony in his tone now, it sounded like he was being strangled, or stabbed or worse.  I yelled and struggled and screamed at his attackers to no avail, pleading into the unforgiving dark surrounding me. 

At some point your mind registered the subtle almost silent sound of a clock, ticking in the darkness.  Your arms began to acheyou’re your subconscious mind finally gave in to the nagging pull of reality as it beckoned you back into your broken shell of a body. 

The now familiar echo of liquid steadily dripping into the Victorian style bejeweled chalice placed precisely underneath your outstretched wrist mimicked the rhythmic sound of a clock.

**Drip. Drop.**

**Drip. Drop.**

**Tick. Tock.**

**Tick. Tock.**

**Drip. Drop.**

// _How much longer till this blood made beat stops?_ //

“Wake up pet.  It’s time to play.”

The voice resonated from somewhere above your head, echoing throughout the abandoned much too quiet rooms of the desolate, decrepit building eerily.

At least it sounded like he was above you, but it could have been off to the side… or maybe it was in your head again… perhaps he wanted to violate your mind again today… or tonight… or whatever time of day it was now. 

Of course it was just as probable that you were blacked out again and dreaming and the Prince of Darkness had simply walked into your dream to create a whole new set of nightmares.  Easily drawing upon old memories and spinning them together into the worst possible fabricated scenarios imaginable, putting you through Hell in your mind until you begged for reality, the wounds of the heart much more excruciating to endure. 

Or so your mind would tell you.  At least until with sadistic eagerness Lucifer would grant your wish and pull you from your dreams, forcing your body into agonizing reality as he continued his assault on your mortal flesh, fulfilling his every want, need and desire, with you as his prized pin up Doll.  

Once again you left the torture of your mind and spirit to face the torture of your body and soul. As always, the first thing your eyes came to rest on was his face, and once more his smile greeted you hungrily. 

“Sweet Dreams little Sunshine?” your lip curled back over your teeth, recently freed of the bonds that had sewn your mouth shut you took the rare chance to snarl your disgust and rage into his face, “You have no right to call me that.  That was Caleb’s name, ONLY his.  I loved him!!”

Your short lived outburst ended with more tears streaming down your bruised and bloodied face, but you managed to meet his eyes and saw his defined jaw twitch at your profession of love for your brother. 

The satisfaction that aggravated look written on his face gave you was enough to spark you to deal another blow, daring to speak once more before he decided again to make it impossible for you to do so.

“I.Loved.Him.  _You can never take that from me_.”

Fire ignited in Lucifer’s eyes and you felt yourself smile in triumph, rubbing salt in the wound,

“And you, _you_ are NOTHING to me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dreaming segments of this Story are going to be written in first person, just to change things up a bit.  
> If you all absolutely hated it, please, let me know, and I won't do it again. <3
> 
> "Sunshine/Sunny" is simply the Reader/Main Characters nickname, as obviously the characters first name is whatever you want it to be. I gave this to her from Caleb because I built their relationship on a parallel of another couple of very close siblings we all know and love ;) This will come into play later in the story. 
> 
> Also, the ending is a total set up for Lucifer to really show what happens when he's angry. BUT, thus far the story has been really dark, and I don't want to make anyone regret reading it. So, expect at least one more bloody/effed up chapter or scene and then I PROMISE I'll begin to introduce the rest of the story Cast and get Sunny on her way to at least some semblance of recovery. 
> 
> Trust me, everything I write has a reason... even if it's not apparent immediately. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I LIVE FOR YOUR WONDERFUL COMMENTS! <3 Thanks everyone. 
> 
> ~Em


	6. Pins and Needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy <3  
> ~Em

 

“You enjoy the pain, don’t you?”

Lucifer had been silently regarding you from his usual resting spot, half sitting half leaning against the metal hospital table that displayed a plethora of surgical instruments along with a varied assortment of tools and weapons.  When he’d uncovered them for the first time all you could think was how cliché’ it was.  Talk about movies desensitizing people. 

You didn’t satisfy him with an answer, though it was hard not to immediately deny the accusation, disgusted at the implications.  Instead you finally stopped staring him down and simply tilted your head back to rest, sighing at the dull ache in your shoulder and the cold creeping up the length of your arm.  Your eyelids felt very heavy and it was becoming incredibly difficult to keep your eyes open.  Your chest was beginning to rise and fall very slowly and you realized your breathing had gotten incredibly shallow an alarm going off in the recess of your mind screaming that something was wrong.  Panic.  Fear.  You should have been afraid.  But the amount of blood you’d lost was causing your body to shut down slowly, reflexes next to nonexistent.   As you tried to move your arms you felt pins and needles stabbing into your fingertips and along your wrist, dancing over your forearm and up past your elbow.  Half closed eyes struggled to focus on that hand, staring at the fuzzy image of your outstretched arm as it hung your wrist directly over a decorative metal cup which was nearly full with bright crimson liquid which was still dripping freely from the nasty looking horizontal gap carved along the inside of your sickly, skeletal wrist. 

_//I’m not going to die.//_

Your mind was clouded but the thought remained, you knew full well if the goal was to kill the cut would have gone straight up the length of your arm.  Apparently Lucifer was no stranger to the concept either. 

As your vision began to fade completely your eyes caught the distinct lines of already healed, multiple matching, lacerations directly above the open wound and vaguely you wondered how many times you’d been through this already and why you had no memory of such torture. 

“Now, now darling.” The chiding voice was accompanied by a few, soft slaps to your cheek and you let out a gasp at the pain that shot through your face as your injuries were touched. 

“That’s a girl. Can’t have you falling asleep again so soon.” The hand that had kept you conscious now grasped your wrist, his hand closing over the entirety of the laceration and gripping it tightly, the weak cries coming from your mouth like music to his ears. 

After a moment the pain subsided and the blonde dropped your hand with a sigh, picking up the blood filled chalice and watching your face as you puzzled over the fresh scar on your arm, the wound healed as if you’d gotten it months ago.  It obviously wasn’t the first time he’d drained you to the point of passing out, the identical scars lining your arm were proof of that. 

_//Just how long could this go on?//_

A dark chuckle from the Devil himself brought your attention back to him. 

“Oh dear little pet.  Why would I ever settle for less than Eternity?”

Of course he read your mind.

“Eternity as a blood whore.  Just what I always dreamed of.” The words were quiet, your voice raspy from lack of water and countless screams. 

Instead of taking the bait Lucifer simply smiled, raising his cup to you before lifting it to his lips and savoring the warm liquid completely as it filled his mouth and washed down his throat bringing him a new surge of power, the effect was like electricity running through the air, sending sparks of dark magic along your bare skin and causing you to shudder, your stomach turning at the feel of it.   

“Mmmm.” He set the empty goblet down on the table with a clink of metal on metal, hand absently running along the tools at his disposal before choosing one and placing it in his pocket before you could see what he had in store for you. 

His broad frame approached you slowly, kneeling to undo the ropes that tied you to the cold wooden chair you’d been sitting in for hours.  Before you decided to attempt anything the blue eyed fallen Angel clapped your abused wrists in irons and lifted you to your feet by your arms, deftly attaching the cuffs to a chain dangling directly above you.  The height of the chain was just enough so that it kept you on your feet, too high for your heels to touch the dirty floor so that you were suddenly struggling to stand, trying to put your weight on your toes and not on your bruised wrists. 

The rusty iron bands cut into your bones and ripped open old wounds and you began to whimper at the inability to keep your footing, every time your toes gave out from the weight your hands paid the price. 

Lucifer had busied himself by removing the chair from behind you, dragging it to the edge of the room out of your field of vision before coming up behind your struggling form and causing you to let out a startled noise as his hands began to drift over the expanse of your naked back, the one place he hadn’t ruined with bruises or wounds. 

Your back arched away from his touch but it was impossible to stay that way with the lack of control you had.  Strong, calloused hands gripped your thin hips tightly, eliciting a squeak of pain as his fingertips dug into the prominent bones, holding your struggling body still as his lips brushed the nape of your neck, the short stubble on his chin scraping against your skin and making your body break out in gooseflesh.  The feeling made you grimace and you attempted to lean as far away as possible, only bringing another onslaught of pain as you had to pull on your shackles to do so. 

The possessed man at your back only pressed himself closer, nuzzling his face into your shoulder and whispering,

“Normally I’ve been letting you dream during our most intimate time together, but your attitude needs another adjustment and I believe I have just the cure for your continued defiance.” 

The words stilled your struggling and you felt tears leaking from your dry eyes as the implications.  How many times had he touched you without your knowledge? 

What things had he done to your unconscious body?

“Please…”

You had held out begging for your life this long.  But the scars you had now were much more easy to bear than the scars you were about to receive. 

“Don’t.” your voice sounded far away. 

Lucifer’s hands released their hold on your hips, only to begin roaming the expanse of your stomach, one hand dipping below your waist as he ran his fingernails over the pattern of cuts on your upper thigh, re-opening the scabs and causing you to squirm at the pain. 

“Do keep begging.” His voice mocked from next to your head, his hands moving to your back and you gasped as you felt the hot, slickness of his forked tongue slid from the top of your spine towards the base, nails scratching red patterns into the flesh of your back.  Your brain was screaming for him to stop, please stop, please don’t, please leave me alone, I’ll do anything please just stop!  But you refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing it from your lips. 

“Oh come now,” he taunted, mouth attacking the sensitive skin along the small of your back, teeth cutting into you sharply, chapped lips coaxing blood vessels to burst under the surface of your skin, decorating your back with bruises, “you don’t have to pretend this isn’t what you want. After all, I’ve been your head remember?” the feel of his hands ghosting over your hips and gliding teasingly much too close to your most intimate parts caused another bout of useless struggling on your part, yanking painfully against the cuffs and swinging your body sideways, so that he was now at your side instead of behind you, your eyes glaring down at his kneeling form, all the hatred you felt bubbling to the surface. 

This seemed to further intrigue Lucifer, you could see it in his eyes, the challenge you presented him was what he fed on and your defiance only fueled the flames of his desire to consume you body and soul. 

Standing, the father of demons used one of your arms to turn you fully towards him, your mouth clamping shut, teeth biting down on your tongue as you refused to cry out at the pain it caused.  Blood pooled into your mouth and you tried to ignore the copper taste, turning your eyes away from that heated gaze before you in disgust. 

With a quick movement your lower jaw was held with painful force in his right hand as he turned your head back to face him, the look in his eyes was dangerous. 

“There’s a limit to my patience.  Even for you my pet.” You attempted to yank your head back, pulling away from his grasp only to feel fingers pinch tightly into your face, prying your mouth open and keeping it that way as his lips suddenly found your own, his tongue devouring the inside of your mouth, licking the walls of your cheeks and sucking the wound on your tongue until it felt like you couldn’t breathe.  You’d tried to shake yourself free, only causing extensive bruising along your jaw, muffled sounds of protest ignored completely.  With a sharp sound of pain your jaws finally clamped shut, barely missing the Devil’s tongue as he read the intention in your mind and pulled back just in time to keep his tongue in one piece. 

A heavy hand collided with the side of your head and your vision exploded with dark spots as he backhanded you with enough force to threaten whiplash.  Before you could fully recover another blow slammed into your solar plexus, his fist connecting between your ribs, just under your sternum and effectively knocking the wind out of you, the urge to vomit so strong you probably would have if you’d had anything in your stomach.  Gasping for breath your legs gave out, putting your entire weight on the raw, bloody skin of your wrists as the chain above you rattled from the movement. 

Lucifer made a noise of annoyance and disappeared from your sight, you heard him rummaging through the contents of the table off to your right and tried to clear your vision completely, your head was pounding, breath labored.

Coming back into view it took a second for your eyes to register the items held in his outstretched hand as he stood with a forced smile, waiting for your mind to catch up and process what you were looking at. 

Your feet struggled to find purchase on the slick ground, bare toes scraping against the concrete.

“I hate to resort to such measures.” He sighed dramatically, sliding a muscled arm through the hole between your head and shoulder, his entire hand gripping the back of your head, fingers holding your hair so tightly you were completely unable to move your head, eyes wide as he continued, savoring the moment. 

“Especially when I have to ruin those perfectly delectable lips of yours… again.”

The first needle broke through the skin at the edge of your mouth leisurely and you could feel the tip rip through each layer of muscle until with a barely audible popping sound the safety pin burst through the inside of your mouth. 

“However, it seems I must resort to such methods if I want you to keep your mouth open.” The predatory look in his eyes and the way his tongue swept across his lips at the sight of your mouth being pinned in place was too much.  You squeezed your eyes shut tightly; whimpering in the back of your throat as he methodically placed the pins in such a way to hold your lips in place until you were completely unable to shut your mouth, throat swallowing convulsively as tears streamed freely down your face, unable to hold them back any longer. 


	7. Escape

 

Your playtime with Lucifer had been cut short today on account of some demon showing up an interrupting just as your tormentor was about to savage your body again with his own. Needless to say the first black eyed idiot didn’t live long enough to deliver the message though it was apparently important enough that you were freed from your restraints and put back in your cell of a room to await further attention. The tattered remains of the clothes you’d worn back when you were first captured were thankfully still rolled up in the corner, your guard had finally relinquished the items days ago after a particularly long and nasty bought of screaming on your part.

Taking the fabric in your hands you carefully pulled the once white t-shirt over your head, wincing as the material slid over the plethora of new and old wounds, blood seeping into the cotton, adding more color to the rusty tint it already held. It was even more difficult getting into the pants and today you couldn’t bring yourself to pull them up past your ankles, the pain as the denim brushed over your cuts was just too much. Sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your legs, head resting on your knees you began to cry, hot, salty tears dripping through the grime on your cheeks and pelting into your wounds making them sting.

Noise from the hallway made you snap into Hunter mode, crawling to the door and pressing your ear against the damaged wood you heard voices, confused and angry, something was definitely going on and it wasn’t going the way Hell had planned. The guard at your door retreated along with whoever he was conversing and your heart skipped a beat. This was your chance. It hurt to stand, at least one of your ankle bones had been fractured and the damage to your ribs and spine made it difficult to walk without serious pain with each step, but it didn’t matter, turning the doorknob you leaned heavily on the door as it swung open.

The hallway was clear and you took it, limping as fast as your wrecked body would allow leaving a trail of blood in your wake as wounds opened at the strain. There was a room to the right, with a door hanging off it’s hinges and in that room there was a patch of wall through which you could see yellow grass and gray sky. The sound of footsteps and male voices sent you into a panic and before you knew it you’d broken through the wall, scrambled through the wood and were laid out flat in the tall dry brush surrounding the dingy abandoned warehouse you’d been living in.

Shouts and curses from the Demons who’d just discovered your absence made you shake yourself out of the blissful sluggish darkness that threatened to consume you and you found yourself running, stumbling through field, then forest, your heart pumping loudly in your ears. How long you ran would remain a mystery but eventually the blood loss and the lack of sustenance brought you crashing down. There you were found a bloody mess curled up in the grass, looking like a victim of domestic violence.


	8. Rise and Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in the hospital, safe at last? or maybe not...

 

The drone like hum of electricity and the steady drip of fluid once more pulled you into the world of the living, tugging at the corners of your mind like a hook, solidly anchored into the mouth of a fish, pulling just slowly and persistently enough to reel you to the surface. The two familiar sounds were suddenly joined by an approaching pair of footsteps, heavy and confident, long strides from one and shorter, but more confident strides from the other.

The sound of deep male voices finally broke you out of the temporary paralysis your fear had induced and you began to sit up abruptly, reaching for any weapon you might have. Big mistake. The only thing you managed was to jerk your body to one side, the other held in place by the foam and nylon restraint tightly gripping your wrist and a sling propping up your fully casted leg which hung precariously off the bed attached to a metal bar that arched over your knees and connected to either side of the hospital bed. Despite your weakened state the momentum was enough to tear the sling free from the rod holding your leg in place effectively dropping your still very much broken leg and shooting intense pain up your body, so much that you felt it in your teeth.

“Effing hex son of a freaking demon ugh!” your lame attempt at not swearing while in a hospital full of dying people did not go unnoticed.

“Easy there miss.” A deep voice soothed from somewhere to your right.

Your eyes were still adjusting and you winced at the pain shooting through your head as you blinked rapidly trying to center on one of the three, no two, men in suits who’d just arrived.

//Stay clever if you want to survive.// Your mind warned.

You managed to focus on the closer of the two, staring much more confidently than you felt into the pair of intelligent, piercing green eyes that went with the baritone voice.

Those eyes made you want to trust him, but everything else about this man screamed impostor.

From his fancy ironed suit to his too perfectly tied tie right down to his spit shined and polished, squeaky clean black oxford shoes.

Hell his outfit probably cost more money than you’d ever had in your life, and he’d just called you “miss” like he was talking to a twelve year old.

The corners of your eyes narrowed slightly before you allowed them to flicker to the even more intimidating form of his associate, the man had to be part giant. It was a wonder he didn’t hit his head coming through the damn door he was so tall. His shoulders were broad but he looked lean, fit actually, with an athlete’s body underneath all that fancy clothing. Internally you chuckled, unable to stop yourself from comparing him to Jack Skellington all limbs and big eyes, and Christ that hair! If only you could manage to keep your unruly mane that shiny and smooth you wouldn’t cut and it keep it up all the time, the man was like a walking Loreal commercial and you couldn’t help but envy him just a little.

Your mundane thoughts were interrupted as the blond man cleared his throat, one hand covering a slight smirk as he’d obviously caught your triple take of the pair of them. Skellington was glaring at green eyes like it wasn’t the first time he’d acted immaturely.

Your brow furrowed in confusion at the strange chemistry between them and you instantly regretted the action bringing a heavily bandaged hand to your bruised, cut and stitched face and mumbling a raspy “Ow.”

“Excuse my partner.” The brunette apologized, finally taking control of the situation and settling himself into the only chair in the stuffy 8x10 room you’d been recuperating in for the past, how long was it? Just as you began dismissing his apology your eyes came to rest on the small table nestled next to the head of your bed.

Placed with care in the center of the table was an ornate blue and white glass vase with one single red rose and a tiny white card set on it’s side with scrawling cursive that simply read,

“See you soon my Sunshine.”

The light in the room suddenly became too bright and the temperature skyrocketed as your heart began beating too fast, your breath increasing and all the hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood on end as you broke out in a cold sweat, icy beads rolling down the base of your skull trailing a path along your spine and soaking the pasty floral print hospital gown you’d been outfitted with.

The rose was in full bloom, perfect, too perfect, you were suddenly choking on the scent as if you’d had your face stuffed into a bed of fresh roses and you could feel the thorns ripping through your nasal passage. The sudden panic in your eyes should have warned the Agents (or whoever they were) but the green eyed one let out a surprised yell that sounded like a name as you flung yourself as far away from the flower as your restraints would allow, nearly yanking yourself free from the cuff, ripping open several lacerations on your left arm, blood now flowing freely onto the white sheets as you struggled to free yourself with the raw abandon of a wild animal chained in captivity.

You’d managed to throw yourself to the right side of the bed and crawl down the foot of it, painfully rearranging your broken leg so your feet were now facing the head of the bed, your gown had come up to reveal the mass amounts of stitched lacerations and carved words of shame on your thighs but you were more worried about keeping away from the Devil’s gift than protecting your modesty. He’d been here. He’d touched that flower. He’d been so close. And you’d been unconscious.

You let out a pathetic sob at the thought of what he could have done to your body and the sound of your own voice made you jump. The machines by your bed were beeping loudly and there was commotion at the door as a doctor ran to check on you but you vaguely heard one of the men reassuring him and then the sound of the door shutting behind you made you spring into action again, expecting the worst. You shrank away from the men who’d both leaped to their feet and were looking at you with varied expressions of concern was it anger?

“Who are you!?” it was the only thing you could think of and you watched as they looked to each other for the answer.

“Don’t lie to me!” you’re voice was shaking and you were on the verge of tears, barely covered by a shitty hospital gown, skeletal and broken like some wounded animal acting like a crazy person over a fucking flower, they would have had every right to throw you in the loony bin right then and there.

Instead the tall brunette gave a small nod to his partner who looked you dead in the eyes and said calmly,

“I think you’ve probably heard of us. My name’s Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sam. We’re Hunters, like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry posting more on the morrow, comments appreciated as always. <3  
> ~Em


	9. Where is my mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters ask questions and get more than they bargained for when Sam's physic abilities give him a glimpse into their 'witnesses' troubled recent past.

 

You must have given him a look that said “I call bullshit.” because he reached for his wallet and dug out a very bent and dirty Kansas state ID that did in fact identify him as one Dean Winchester. Born 1.24.1979.   

“I told you she wouldn’t believe us.” He commented dryly as you took a few deep breaths swaying slightly as your adrenaline wore out and your body began punishing you for the sudden loss of blood.  You weakly tugged at the wrist cuff still anchoring your bleeding arm to the side of the bed and watched cautiously as the younger Winchester slowly moved to release you from your binding.  His long, nimble fingers carefully not touching your wrist as he deftly undid the buckle his kind eyes never leaving yours as you pulled your arm tightly to your chest, rubbing the sensitive skin with your other hand, your numb fingers tingling. 

“Thank you.” You managed, trying to swallow though your mouth was dry and your tongue felt heavy.  Your lips stung and you brought one hand to your mouth, fingertips tracing along the cuts and barely formed scars across the underside of your bottom lip.  It made you wonder what picture you painted to these men.  If they were who they claimed it was an honor to be in their presence.  But you felt more ashamed than anything.  What would they think of you if they knew?  Did they know?  Had they talked to the doctors?  Did anyone even know the extent of your injuries?  Mental and physical?  They probably thought you were weak. 

You let that thought manifest into anger and it helped you gain enough courage to collect yourself and stop acting like a frightened little kids scared of the shadows on the walls.  Squaring your shoulders you pulled the hospital blanket up to your waist, covering your wounds and refusing to look at their faces, focusing on your hands as if they were the most fascinating things you’d ever seen. 

Still not looking at them, afraid of the disgust or pity they might be wearing on those handsome faces you asked, “So why are you two here?” and then finally lifted your chin, eyes landing on each of them in turn, waiting patiently for an answer. 

Sam opened his mouth but Dean spoke first, “We’ve been having a damn hard time with a sudden onslaught of Demons.  We heard you’d been found near a town that had been completely wiped off the map thought you might have some information that could help us figure out who’s behind it all so we can put a to stop to all the killing.  Send those fuckers back to where they belong.”

The laugh that bubbled out of your throat hurt but you couldn’t help it, shaking your head and putting your face in your hands, your smile tearing your lip scabs open, blood trickling down your chin as you continued to chuckle to yourself like a mental patient.  They had no idea what they were up against.  No clue.  They thought demons were responsible for the sudden spike in mass murders, laying waste to an entire city??  How could you have had hope that they were here to tell you they’d sent Lucifer back to Hell?  OF course they hadn’t.  You were all going to die.  Or worse. 

“I don’t see how any of this is funny.” Dean cut in harshly.

“Dean-“ Sam put his hand on his brothers arm to calm him but was shrugged off as the blonde hunter stepped closer to the bed.  “No Sam, she knows something and we need her to talk.”

“You don’t want me to talk.” Your eyes were cold as you looked him dead in the face and said bitterly, “You don’t want to know who’s behind all of this.  Because at the end of this story everyone dies.  Everyone you know, everyone you love, they are all gone.  At least the lucky ones.” 

Dean clamped a heavy hand on your shoulder as if to shake you his eyes all fire and brimstone when Sam pushed him away his hand pulling his brothers off your now aching skin.  The instant his hand came fully in contact with your arm you both felt an intense shock, your mind suddenly opening to his, flooding his senses with pain, fear, agony.  Sam’s eyes widened as he was thrown into your tortured and wounded recent past.   

_Lucifer regarded the body beneath him with a sort of pride, brushing back blood soaked locks of dirty hair from his little Sunshine’s face, her bruised eyes closed in her state of temporary unconsciousness, lashes long and beautiful.  He still saw beauty in her body as broken and bloodied as it was he still felt the warmth of her fiery heart barely beating against his chest as he buried himself in her again and again, strong arms holding her seemingly lifeless form close while he ravaged her to his heart’s content.  If he’d had a heart that is.  The Devil’s smile widened as his human pet moaned in pain, beginning to stir from her blackout, perfect timing.  His forked tongue slathered the expanse of that delectable, pale neck and he gripped her hip bones tightly, watching her eyes flutter open and take in the sight of him as he slammed into her core, the scream of agonized terror that ripped from her throat taking him over the edge as he groaned, savoring the sweet release that only she could provide._

You fell back onto the bed with a strangled sob and Sam yanked his hand away from you like he’d been electrocuted the look on his face one of horror and disbelief, Dean grabbed onto his brother to steady him looking less angry and more confused.  “Was that-what-was that?” the hazel eyed Winchester looked like he was having trouble believing what he’d just seen and you were too shocked and disgusted to wonder how it had even happened.

“That was who you’re dealing with.” Your voice was broken and you couldn’t stop the fresh tears streaming down your face. 

“That was who put me here.  That was Satan in the flesh.  Lucifer has come to take his revenge on his father.  The end is here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think please? Hope you enjoyed it, trying to keep ya'll intrigued. Again, short, but sweet (in a horrible, torture-ish sort of way). More tomorrow. <3  
> ~Em
> 
> ******  
> UPDATE:  
> ******  
> Just wanted to let anyone who cares know that I AM still going to continue this story, I just moved and all my files on the computer I was using for 2 years got wiped and I lost everything.... -_- All my ideas, partials, photos, my blog content, everything. So, I am starting at square one again, and I've one got a little Amazon Fire Tablet and occasional WiFi to work with. Please bear with me.
> 
> The best is yet to come :)
> 
> ~Emery


	10. And you ask yourself, is this real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the shocking flashback in the hospital the Winchesters work their magic to get you released, not without a few hiccups along the way, including some tragic and unexpected news. If you thought that was bad, now your stuck with two strange men in an unfamiliar car on the road to nowhere... at least that's where you know you'll be if they continue doing things the Winchester way.  
> Written with scenes from the present and the past, each change in time is titled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright lovelies FINALLY you can get your fix in! 
> 
> I am incredibly sorry for the lengthy delay. After I lost my work it took me awhile to get up the motivation to restart, and I wrote at least 5 different pieces of the chapter and was waiting to put them together when my freaking tablet was stolen out of my friends car. After that fiasco I was really unmotivated just in general, had a rough down time and pulled myself out of it and I've spent the past week working on editing and revising so I hope it's worth it. I wrote a lot so I'm splitting it up and have enough for 2 maybe 3 chapters so far so I will be posting the next chapter in a matter of days, just to keep ya'll wanting more of course, and then I'll be staying ahead instead of behind and be able to work on my other fics as well. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always I greatly appreciate your comments and kudos and you guys are what ultimately kicked my butt and got me back into writing mode so I could get you an epic update.  
> Much love all,  
> ~Emery  
> (I'll be adding a fic pic later tonight if all goes well <3)

_** ** _

 

_**PRESENT; THE IMPALA** _

 

It was cold and the the awkward silence had stretched on from the moment the three of you had entered their sleek, black "getaway" car.  

In hindshight, had you not been so preoccupied warring with the plethora of emotions flooding your mind, you might have complimented the preserved state of the Classic 1967 Impala, a car your brother would have swooned over a lifetime ago. If it hadn't ben for Caleb your knowledge of motor vehicles would consist of next to nothing, and you would have been happy that way. He'd never managed to hook your interest on the topic, but you had learned some useful information that saved your ass on more than one occasion in the past. How to hotwire anything in under a minute, for insance, came in handy when on the run so often.

  
Upon entering the Impala you had automatically moved as far from the younger of the two brothers as possible, which put you behind the drivers seat. You'd been carefully avoiding contact with him in any way, shivering at the thought of his touch sparking another full scale flashback. You knew you were acting rude, especially since he had been overly courteous the entire time; opening every door on your slow walk (or limp rather) out of the Hospital as you left behind all of it's blinding, florescent light and acridic antiseptic smell, the permeating scent of iodoform that still burned your nostrils and stung your eyes as it seeped from your many bandages.

Sam Winchester even opened the passenger door like a gentleman and held the worn, but well cared for, beige, leather seat forward paiently while you gingerly crawled in. The man had been downnright chivalrous for fucks sake.

  
However, as far you were concerned giving your "Federal Escorts" the cold shoulder was completely justified. During the last four days you'd gotten more aquainted with the infamous Winchesters you'd heard nothing more than bad news and recieved information that you weren't sure you actually wanted to know. All the intel you'd gleaned from the Hunters about the events leading to the release of Lucifer from Hell and who exactly was responsible... honestly it was a miricale you had gotten in the damn car in the first place, no matter how nice it was.

  
In your heart you knew it was cruel to blame even a little part of your torturous experience at the hands of God's Fallen Son on either of the Winchesters, even if it technically wouldn't have happened if not for their actions, Sam's in particular.  
In all honesty it could have been you, Caleb, even Dean... any Hunter could have made the wrong move as he had. But your new company had been incredibly vague as toously va how exactly Sam tracked down Lillith, Lucifer's right-hand demon and how he had the power to single handeldly slay her. It bothered you to be sure, but you'd seen the clench of Dean's jaw and the uneasy shift of Sam's wide shoulders as the young man failed to keep the look of shame from showing on his handsome face. You didn't have to be the empath you were to pick up on the incredible ammount of guilt he still carried and it was obvious there were more personal details that neither Hunter wished to divulge. Neither was it your place to be nosy with complete strangers, even if they were famous Supernatural ass kickers.

  
You averted your gaze from anywhere near the front of the sleek, midnight black, Chevy that was almost as shiny as the faux Agents shoes and decided to apologize for your brooding at a later time. That is of course if there were a point when you could relax a bit and see them as fellow hunters and not just a couple of strange men who you hadn't the slightest clue about. You'd only ever heard stories about them, all Hunters did. Their family was a legend, a bed time story with a tragic ending.

  
Not only would you have to trust them, but you still weren't 100% positive they weren't taking you to to some half-way house for injured useless-has-beens while they took off to hunt down Lucifer themselves. You'd never heard of them working with anyone else it wasn't likely they would start on your account, not while Lucifer was still free, celebrating the lack of able bodied resistance with mass slaughter and pandemonium.  
Your emotions fluctuated between anger and pity and never one feeeling long enough that you could forgive either of them for setting loose the monster that plagued your ever waking moment and invaded your dreams. No matter how valiant or innocent their intentions.

 

  
_**PREVIOUSLY THAT WEEK AT THE HOSPITAL** _

__

The task of getting OUT of the multi-story, white washed Hospital had been arduos to say the least.

It had taken a fair deal of convincing bullshit and some strong arming from agents "Carter" and "Coulson" (you'd given them both raised eyebrows and feigned choking on your ice water to avoid blowing their cover by snorting at the absolute ridiculousness and the fact that the damn staff didn't blink an eye. Who doesn't know Marvel characters?? Seriously...).

It took 3 days of negotiation but they finally managed getting the hospital to sign off on a waiver, which freed you from the tiny, eggshel white cube you'd been living in.

There were too many "regular" Doctors and Nurses watching over you day and night you'd lost track of pretty much all their names, other than, the kindest of them all, Miss Rosita, who had led the team of four pale blue gowned nurses to get you dressed while the "Feds" were occupied making sure the paperwork was in order.

It was a bit refreshing to be in something other than the backless, pastel monstrocity you'd been living in during your stay. Rosita had brought a small carboard box full of donated clothing after you had repeatedly stated to at least three people that 'Yes, you were positive you had no belongings to speak of'.  
You'd chosen the most conservative items of clothing possible in the donation box and were pleasantly satisfied with the coverage of the apparel, so much so that you didn't give a damn how hot you might be underneath in the current stifling humidity outside. The dark gray, knit pullover, sweater was a mens size XL and not only did the sleeves swallow up your thin arms, dangling just below your fingertips but the hem was so long it touched the top of your knee caps, hidding most of your hideously scarred and mangled, twig like body. The loose navy blue mens sweat pants covered your bandaged legs without clinging too tightly, though any contact with your skin from neck to ankles made you bite your tongue to keep from letting out noises of painful, discomfort.

It had taken nearly all your strength just to be on your feet for those few minutes, to lift your arms long enough to allow your medical entorage to slide on the sweater and pull up the sweats once you'd very gingerly gotten yourself into some unflattering white hipster panties the hospital supplied, though truth be told you were relieved you actually had underwear to wear at all finally.

At one point the small, hispanic nurse excused herself from the slow going process of clothing you and a minute later could be heard scolding someone. You could'nt make out what she was so being so motherly adamant about because she'd quickly switched to her native tongue, leaving the other person to apologize in english for not being able to understand her.

  
The poor dude sounded so sincerly apologetic you almost felt sorry for him, you'd been on the recieving end of the sweet, mother hen Nurse with a fiery temper's "Momma Rosita knows best!" lectures many a time while hospitalized, though you were able to enjoy the luxury of feigning sleep, nodding off into delirium from your steady drug cocktail drip, leaving the petite, firecracker of a woman to tsk at you fondly and bustle off to pester other melancholly patients into cheerfulness.  
The hallway had gone silent and seconds later Rosita shuffled quietly back in with a displeased look on her tan, wrinkled face, shaking her head and giving you a warm smile of reasurrance upon seeing you were listening, as always.

"Agent Carter has promised you'll be getting your belongings soon after your departure my dear." she had told you sounding satisfied. You'd managed to hide your frown at the news with effort, giving the nurse what you hoped was a convincing smile of thanks while your mind darkened at Sam's lie. The brunette Winchester told it so smothly that you would have believed him had it not been your non-existant items he referd to. As much as you wanted to have the comfort of knowing you had someone else to trust again, someone to team up with... no more Solo Hunting... it was too good to be true.

  
These brothers of the revered Winchester family had already given you more than one reason not to trust them. The ability to lie repeatedly and about multiple topics and remember your lies wasn't something just anyone could do.

All Hunters were trained to create one or more Alias' so that if need be while on a Case they could use such identities for their safety and that of the general public. However, not only did it seem like this multi-facetted charade was common place to these men, but a "normal" person would have a physical reaction to the deception and would, depending on their character and beliefs, hopefully feel regret, or guilt at the very least if not quit the whole thing all together and find an alterantive solution.

Sam and Dean had yet to show they felt uncomfortable keeping up the lies and they had plenty of them to go around.

All in all in took twenty whole minutes for the women to get you into a baggy sweater and equally baggy pants.  The nurses offered the option for you to lay down and let them assist dressing you that way, but the mental image had caused an unpleasant shudder to overcome you at the thought of being so helpless while a stranger had to, or could in an emergency situation such as this would help you dress, use the bathroom or bathe. A shudder that triggered memories, and just like that you were reliving the recent past.

 _"Einz..._  
_Zwei..._  
_Drei..."_

  
**_I'm not dead..._ **

  
_Your first semi cognizant thought came and was lost like so many before in the wave of saddenss that follwed the next second as you clung to the darkness like a dear friend nearly sobbing as your brain repeated in despair, **I'm not dead.**_

_"Veir..."_

  
_The sound of running water further confused your subconsious, the welcome expanse of black eternity began ebbing away and with it your body's remaining pain receptors began to function again._

 _"Funf..._  
_Sechs..."_

**_No sex. No sex. No sex._ **

_The incorrect interpretation to an alogether unrelated word still induced immense fear, causing your entire, seemingly lifeless body to flex defensively and the reflex tore a inhuman cry of agony up through your chest and out your throat with such force your shredded vocal cords began to bleed._

_"Seiban..._  
_Neun..."_

_Your skeletal frame shook from the exertion caused by so much physical trauma and you stubbornly clung to the inky black spots behind your closed eyes, wondering not for the first time if you were actually living eternity in Hell all this time, punished for failing to protect Caleb._

_**Don't make me. Don't say it. No more light.** _

_"Aus."_

_Instantly your eyes opened, ignoring the too familiar yet temporary blindness as your pupils struggled to rapidly adjust to the harsh light. You turned your head in the direction of that voice, knowing once your eyes had their full sight that there he would be. Watching you revive from your last comotase state with all the satisfaction of a doctor observing the behavior of his lab rats as they continued their helpless descent to a horrid, agonizing end._

_"Ahhh," you flinched at the pleased sound as it left those vile, tormenting lips and resisted the urge to turn away. The infected and open wound that split your left cheek bone had been the punishment for any defiance, any unwanted behavior. You'd withstood two hard hits to the face but only sported a single bruise low on your jaw line as he hit the same cheek for the same behavior._

_The next day like clockwork you obeyed his command to enter the light, "Aus." pulling yourself into consciousness, but had refused to give him your eyes. One minute you were kneeling near him the next you woke up in your cell unable to see out of one eye and finding your torso wrapped tighthly with gauze. Further movent led you to believe your ribs were damaged, though to what extent you could'nt be sure, any attempt to stand caused near blackouts each time and you gave up trying soon enough._

_Lucifer resumed your 'quality time' only after the bandage was removed and ribs able to withstand pressure enough for your more intimate outings._  
_"Heir kommt de Sonne." the baritone voice of your least favorite serpent, constant tormentor and Captor purred the now too familiar words along with a slow melody and continued humming the same tone as he patiently waited for you to regain the ability to move your body, pins and needles shooting through your legs and arms as your body struggled to supply blood to your limbs._

_This had recently become the Devils favorite past time with his "presious ray of Sunshine", putting you through the funnest things he could imagine until you literally lost your mind, and blacked out from terror or panic, or, you passed out from pain or mental and physical exhaustion. How long he allowed you to "recover", laying half dead in the rotting, grime covered chamber you would never know, but now instead of waking up dazed and aching, bleeding or vomiting in that room that now represented saftey, your Lord and Master found himself with too much time on his celestial hands and began stealing you from your prison just before you regained consiousness from his previous affliction to your body and psyche._

 

  
Snapping back to reality, the hospital room came back into focus and you saw your little episode had managed to scare off two of the nurses, whispering prayers as they hurried out at your sudden, seemingly random comatose state, your eyes having gone momentarily blank with visions of the past. Rosita however got you through the after shock, being used to your haunting nightmares by now and made sure you were comfortable and ready to go once your entorage in penguin suits returned.

You'd thanked her graciously, trying and failing to keep your hoarse voice from shaking as you reasured her it wasn't one of the worst you'd had.  At least that part was true.  Since Sam had accidently triggered that first supressed memory upon the Winchester's arrival your flashbacks hadn't come close to filling you with that kind of bone jarring terror.  Perhaps you should have been more greatful to him, but all you could think about was what new dangers lie ahead for the three of you, and what threat the two Hunters might pose, friendly as they may appear.

Cringing as your legs touched the bedframe you leaned against it all the same, lost in thought, all the while tapping your bangaged fingers on the metal railing, welcoming the pain as it sparked through your fingertips and kept your mind tied to the real world.


	11. Wake me up, caught in a bad dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come <3 Keep commenting please it's what keeps me going. Hope you like it. 
> 
> ~Emery

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~PRESENT~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The setting sun reflected in your eyes as you gazed out the back window of the shiny, black Impala at the nearly non-existent silhouette of the Hospital. You sat, or rather were curled up in a ball, shoeless feet pulled under you toes flexing uncomfortably in the course blue hospital socks you still wore. Your bandaged fingers pulling the sleeves of your sweater even farther down your arms, seeking some small measure of comfort as you tried not to wince at the bumps along the road leading to the interstate, each one jarring your teeth and making you want to whimper from the pain.  
If the Winchester's noticed your discomfort, they hid it well. Keeping their eyes glued to the scenery and the pavement. Just as well, your jaded mind supplied. You would hate to see the inevitable looks of pity and judgement in their eyes after the conversation they'd had with the lead Dr. while checking you out of the Hospital. You'd probably be more embarrassed if you weren't so bitter.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~EARLIER THAT DAY: AT THE HOSPITAL~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Your lead physician was a man with a no nonsense attitude who always sounded like he'd rather be anywhere else than where he was. You'd caught his monotone voice drifting down the hallway sounding less than pleased which made you all the more curious as to what was annoying him. With notable effort you'd swung your recently covered legs over the side of the hospital bed and perched carefully on the edge, eyes squinting at the crack in the door which had been left ajar by your team of nurses. You had spotted the unmistakable giant frame of the younger Winchester, suit jacket wrinkling along his torso as he held his arms folded stiffly across his chest, leaning against the wall opposite your physician and glared down at the white smocked amber blonde man who was gesturing to his clipboard, gripped firmly in one hand as if the paperwork held all the answers and solidified his argument.

Not wanting to miss anything you'd leaned over even farther until your body screamed in protest, your atrophied muscles attempting to work overtime.  
Sucking in a painful breath you heard the long haired brunette interrupt Dr. know-it-all and state firmly,

"The patient is no longer your responsibility Dr. Torres. She is in the custody of the US Government and will be transferred to the Witness Protection Program. Effective immediately. They have plenty of capable physicians who can adequately meet any of her ongoing medical needs."

he managed to sound like he knew what he was talking about, though all you could think was "what a load of bullsh*t."  
Doctor Torres scoffed dismissing the brunettes words with a wave of a weathered, but steady hand before rubbing at his 2-O'clock shadow in a gesture of nervous agitation.

"As 'capable' as they may be Agent Carter. My patient has numerous, open, unhealed lesions on her legs, arms, back and torso, a broken ankle, multiple cracked ribs, scaphoid fractures in BOTH wrists, three unhealed stab wounds, serious tissue damage received through blunt force trauma and teeth, the cuts on her lips, face and neck need constant attention to prevent infection as well as the damage to her hips and breasts which we have only been able to address and monitor while the patient is fully sedated or else she becomes catatonic and delusional fighting off the doctors as if she were still being held captive."

You'd watched Sam grimace at the extensive list of injuries, his stance becoming more aggressive with each word.  
At that moment Dean had come around the corner and joined the conversation (a little too conveniently timed in your opinion) his voice nearly a growl,  
"We are well aware of her physical condition."  
The youngest Winchester's large frame relaxed visibly at his partners arrival, you wondered if either of the other men had noticed but Dean continued as if he hadn't.  
"You'd have to be blind not to see the kids barely able to hold herself up, theres massive contusions on every inch of skin that isn't covered in bandages. I've seen a lot Doc but I 'aint never seen a girl in such condition still breathin'. That gives me the feeling that she's either too tough or too stubborn to give into dyin' just yet." The stoic, emerald eyed hunter gave a firm nod as he finished for good measure. his jaw set in a firm line.  
The corners of your eyes crinkled as you subconsciously smiled at the Malcolm-Reynolds-worthy* conviction in his manner... even if he had called you a kid. The motion caused your bruised and scabbed face to itch and you'd rubbed your left eye with bandaged fingers to relieve the annoyance with practiced skill, sure not to press too harshly on your maimed and sensitive skin.

As Torres began to open his mouth in response Sam spoke over him, his voice strained, apparently having much more difficulty being civil and maintaining the facade of a detached, neutral party government worker just following orders than his brother.

"Aside from her clearly visible wounds we know she endured extreme mental abuse for hours, maybe even days at a time. Honestly it's incredible how she is able to be as cognizant and co-operative with us as she has been. She is in danger here. It is our job to ensure she is safe. From now on and that the sick fuck who committed all these crimes against her can never do so again."

The shorter Hunter had lain a heavy hand on Sams shoulder in warning, momentarily grounding his emotions.

"Forgive my partner." he apologized grimly, fixing the slightly older physician with a tight smile, allowing the hazel eyed Winchester slide from underneath his grip and settle back against the wall in his former position, the jet black of his suit and those brooding, chocolate eyes a stark contrast to the eggshell white of the claustrophobic plaster surrounding them.

"He's never seen a victim in person, this is a hard case to first wet your feet with."

If you had been introduced to this Dean at the beginning of their arrival you had no doubt even your Hunter trained mind would have took him for the seasoned, country born agent he flawlessly played now. Though Dr. Torres was turned so that only one side of his face was clearly visible from your perch in your room it was plain to read from his body language that he'd bought the act hook, line and sinker. The Doctor gave the most miniscule of nods in the direction of the 'green' Agent and turned his full attention towards his senior partner, no doubt under the belief that he'd be receiving more respect from him.

The clipboard in his hands was once again brought within reading distance of his shrewd gaze as his sharp eyes scanned through weeks worth of notes in record time with growing conviction in his demeanor and that smug, self-satisfied grin back on his what some might consider handsome face, though every time you'd seen him smile it had only further fueled your desire to punch him in his perfect teeth.

Torres cleared his throat before continuing, failing to muster up enough brass to meet either Agent's eyes for much longer than a few seconds before dropping back to his notes though his mouth never stopped moving, much to your growing shock and horror, as he delivered the rest of his speech without pause as if talking about a test subject rather than an actual human being.

"Agent Coulson, whilst I have no lack of faith in the bureau nor it's exemplary agents, such as yourself, I believe that MY patient is in need of much more than physical medical care. Yet as I explained to Agent Carter her injuries are rather severe even after all the healing her body has accomplished during her 28 days with us." he tucked the clipboard to his chest self righteously and shoved his free hand in the right pocket of his wrinkle free lab coat in a casual way, rambling on as if the three of them were merely discussing the weather.

You'd missed the next few sentences as your mind faltered at the length of time you'd spent in the Hospital, bound to the suddenly too hard, too cold bed beneath you. The thin, tight-knit, faded blue blanket you'd been clutching suddenly felt like straw poking into the back of your thighs and scraping like steel wool against the small patches of exposed skin across your sweaty palms as you released your death grip on the beds edge, the plastic mattress crinkling at the lack of pressure.

Standing had been one of the least intelligent decisions, made all too clear by the sharp, sudden, pulsing pain pounding at your temples, your body screamed in protest at the sudden movement not at all happy with the immediate exertion required of your atrophied muscles.  
You'd stubbornly refused to touch the too familiar, and suddenly sinister steel frame of the bed anymore and forced your shaking legs to cooperate. Shuffling one sock clad foot in front of the other at a pace even a zombie would beat until you reached the rooms single visitors chair. Easing your body down into the cushion which not long ago held the lanky frame of one Sam Winchester.

Letting out a sigh of relief at the release of tension on your tender, healing skin, the sigh tugged at the multiple newly formed scars lining your lips, the holes made with precision using a thick, finger length, chisel point needle -the kind used for piercing leather- had closed, now filled with hard scar tissue. Lines of vertical scabs, varying in length and severity ran the length of your mouth.

The wounds from the thread ripping your lips apart as you screamed or coughed had been unable to heal properly or quickly due to your nervous habit of chewing at your lips with your teeth and the inescapable need to open your mouth when you ate or drank anything which caused the cuts to split open daily, fresh, coppery liquid blooming to the surface, a constant taste on the tip of your tongue, a scent that was so familiar now it probably would have been strange if you couldn't smell it any longer.

You couldn't remember how you had smelled before becoming Satan's plaything and if you hadn't felt so... dead... maybe it would have bothered you more.

The stitches in your face would come out, or so you'd been told. The broken bones of your rib cage and the linear fracture in your shin would mend themselves with time and rest... they had said. The scaphoid fractures to both wrists would leave you handicapped the nurses whispered with pity in their eyes, you'd never lift or grasp without pain though you'd refused to believe you were incapable of using a gun or bow, both of which you used regularly as a Hunter and you'd be damned if they were right on that account.

You knew from now on there would never be a single human being who would see your face without wondering what tragedy must have befallen you, what horror you'd brought upon yourself or lived through, what a poor, damaged, frail little thing you had become. Yet how many could say they had survived being the living, breathing canvas of Lucifer himself?

The lesions, gashes, stab wounds, teeth and nail marks placed methodically where only lovers mouth should kiss, only a lovers hands should touch... they were all vivid testament to the sins he'd so eagerly used you to commit.  
Even when the worst of the hideous, purple and yellow bruises that painted your skin had finally faded and your bones were no longer broken... the countless, thin, vertical scars from wrist to elbow, hip to knee, decorating the left side of your rib cage and scattered along your lower abdomen and hip bones would remain.

Ranging from two to four inches in length they broadcast to the world that you were a victim of your own mental instability.  
Just another depressed girl who took a blade to her own skin to avoid dealing with her life.  
No matter how many times you had told the doctors, the nurses, the staff that you'd never resorted to self harm it was pointless.  
After a certain amount of time you started to sound like a broken record, unbelievable even to yourself. So convinced were the Doctor's that eventually our own mind betrayed you, supplying images of your bony hands holding the knife, your slouched, defeated form crouched in your cell slicing your own flesh into ribbons, eyes faded and hopeless. You listened to the Phsychiatrist's explain how your mind was only providing an outlet to ease your emotional trauma, that it was ok, that they understood and you still half believed they were right.

As if your pitiful array of body mutilation wasn't enough to repulse a seasoned war veteran, the Devil had taken great pride and pleasure in bestowing you with five "special" marks.

Each one carved, ripped or burnt into your supple flesh with the precision and care of a devout artist and renewed often so that the wounds could never properly heal, creating open sores, perfectly preserved in their original state.

There was a story to go along with each mark, a story as old as Lucifer himself, stories of angels and God and monsters that were born alongside demons when humans had only just been created, when the universe was barely born.

When you had still had your wits about you, which was up until the third mark, you had begun to think these brands of his, these cursed marks had some kind of meaning when connected, that somehow they were placed too carefully, that he was using you for some other purpose. But once your mind and body reached a certain point you broke, and broke again, and your mind stopped thinking logically, stopped storing important information and you ceased to care if there had ever been an ulterior motive to his madness.

Your neck had been ripped open with his teeth and molested time and time again by his eager, forked tongue.

Your spine had been sliced from your cervical vertebrae to the beginning of your tail bone with a scalpel and though it had to be some sick, twisted nightmare you swore you still remembered the invasive, digging pressure of his fingers gliding along the blood slicked exposed ivory of your spinal cord, caressing the bones as if he were petting a cat.

Your heart had a hole over it, the skin angry red and new as scar tissue attempted to fill the space where you'd been run through with dagger as long as your forearm, the steel stopping just before puncturing your heart. At least that's what he'd told you happened, oh so proudly after you came back from the blackout, the sticky, tar like feel of his tainted Grace flooding your senses as he healed you just enough to stay alive, but not enough to keep the wound from seeping the constant, hot, vibrant red fluid from the slit in your chest.

Your hips he had burned Enochian symbols into, over and over and over until you were sure that was bone you smelt burning like acid in your lungs. What it meant or said was a mystery to you still.  
In the center of each of your palms was a nickel size hole, or there had been before they had done minor reconstruction on your muscles and confirmed no bones had been damaged. It was with pride your captor had viewed his work and exclaimed that your beauty in your damaged tate rivaled even the perfection of Christ.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*PAST: LIMBO, HELL, LUCIFERS DUNGEON-*-*-*-*-*-*

"Oh how my brothers would cry and worship this masterpiece you have become."

You'd rasped out a rasp in an attempt to laugh and spat blood at his feet from your position, chained upright in the middle of this one of many rooms. Responding with a spark of your old defiance your chin lifted as much as you could bear as you mocked him.

"For once you're right. Congratulations. Even the Angels would weep upon the hideous creature you have twisted me into."

You couldn't remember what had occured after that. Though you had met his eyes for a milisecond of time and before the world disappeared and within them burned fire and brimstone, rage seeping into them like the foreboding darkness of volcanic ash. It had frozen the blood in your veins. Then only silence.

Pure and obsolete.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~RECENT PAST: HOSPITAL~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

You'd sat shaking in the desolate hospital room trying to get a firm grip back on reality. Thankfully the sound of raised voices managed to startled you from your morose nostalgia, drawing your attention back to the men in the hallway.

You'd pulled the chair across the floor with substantial effort so you were closer to the cracked door, frowning in concentration as you continued to listen eavesdrop.

The first voice echoing down the corridor belonged to Sam,

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

"Sa-AGENT! Back down!" Clearly Dean's control was slipping too, probably sick of playing the middleman, underneath though he also sounded tired, shaky even.

Dr. Torres spoke in a detached manner as if reading his notes, which he might have been for all you knew, unable to see out the door any longer from your new position in the guest chair behind the door,

"As I tried explaining, twice, agent... due to the amount of physical trauma the patient went through there were severe adhesions to her abdomen and also damage to the pelvic cavity. It is almost a hundred percent certain that she will never be able to bear children."

The realization of his words didn't quite set in right away, at the time your reaction had been more confused than anything. Sam and Dean could be heard shuffling their feet and it sounded like there was some kind of scuffle followed by the sound of hands being shrugged off a a suit as you could hear Sam grind out his words in what you assumed was an effort to keep from screaming at the physician.

"You mean to tell me tell us she the patient was so brutally sexually assaulted that she is literally unable to have kids someday?? She was robbed of the opportunity to have her own family?!"

His vehement tone rang with the bitterness of past experience and personal loss.

"Enough." Deans voice cut in, quiet and dangerously calm as his words confirmed your suspicion. How Sam Winchester, being a son of the most known and feared pair of Hunters, and now having inherited, earned and taken up that title with his brother could even give thought to such a white picket fence fantasy was beyond you.

You all lived in the land of Demons, monsters, corrupt Angels... a world with no God to care if you were taken by the things that actually do go bump in the night.

Children shouldn't have to live in such a Hell and making yourself vulnerable by falling in love and getting married sounded absolutely absurd. What normal person would accept your lifestyle? Why would you wish to bring such horror and inevitable danger into someone else's life?

Deep in your heart you began from that moment to pity Sam more than anything, seeing him as a niave, adolescent with big dreams and no clue about the way things really worked, just a boy with false hope for a perfect future to hide from his lonely, pain filled past.

"If you can't distance yourself from this maybe it's time you got some air AGENT."

The sound of agitated, repetitive pacing could be heard and you barely caught Sam mutter "I'm fine."


	12. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just figured out that only half the chapter uplaoded last time so please read through the whole thing now and I apologize!! <3 Hope it's a lot less confusing now. 
> 
> ~Em

 

  

 

 

_**RECENT PAST: THE HOSPITAL** _

 

One of the three men had cleared their throat and an excruciatingly long pause followed as the Hunters found themselves searching for the proper response to the grievous information, both coming up short.

Your ears had been ringing in the echoing silence when Dr. Torres, the prat, took up their conversational slack, causing you to wince visibly at his offensive, monotone drone you'd become much too familiar with.

 "It is quite understandable, given the state she was in, living like that for such an extended period of time that she would turn to... self harm." 

His voice wavered in attempted sympathy as he sighed and you could imagine him shaking his head for their benefit, "It is completely natural for a person to numb emotion anguish with physical pain."

Dean's generally smooth, baritone voice echoed down the empty, hospital hallway though he had lowered his tone considerably, his words dripping with accusatory contempt.

 

 

 "You seriously want us to believe - that half dead girl in there went all Edward Scissorhands on herself after a-a-what? A freaking mental break?  Some kind of severe 'rape induced depression episode'? Really Doc?  THAT'S what your going with?"

Your sensitive ears managed to catch an ugly sounding scoff that sounded like it had come from Sam and you used the distraction to focus on calming your laboured breathing as you struggled to maintain some shred of composure.

With an irritated sound Torrres cut off Sam before he could speak, the Doctors voice sounding even more nasally and pretentious than usual.

"The human body can withstand an extraordinary amount of physical damage.  However, the mind gets twisted easily.  Depression is a Mental Illness gentlemen.  One that sadly leads to self harm."

The man sounded absolutely pleased with his well rehearsed conclusion and his tone couldn't quite manage to convey the sympathetic nature of his words,

"It wouldn't be a stretch to say she became irrevocably depressed during her time in captivity."

Alone in your room you'd been internally caught between screaming, breaking something or bursting into uncontrollable hysterical sobs.  At the time you hadn't even felt the sting of your hot, salty tears flooding the wounds along your cheeks as they streamed down your pale face.

Not only had you just been humiliated in front of two Senior Hunters, you'd inadvertently been slapped with the painfully reality that you were now barren with no hope of reversing the damage... on top of it all everyone thought you were fucking nutcase who had turned to self harm then become suicidal due to severe "domestic" mental and sexual assault.

It had been just your luck that as you had been leaning forward in an attempt to put your spinning head between your legs the stupid hospital chair had tipped forward with your movement.  It slid out from under your broken and emactiated body, depositing you unceremoniously onto the unforgiving, cold, white tiled floor with a yelp of surprise as it collided into the wall behind you with an incredibly loud crash for such a small object. 

Much to your dismay the cacophany of your plight reverberated like a bell along the bare walls drawing the attention of the party you'd been eavesdropping on, as well as anyone else who happened to be within the immediate area.

The door had swung open before you'd been able to recover any shred of dignity and you'd met the concerned gaze of both Winchesters and the much more snide and pitying eyes of Dr. Torres who tsked softly under his breath as he moved into the room and eased you up from your crumpled position on the bare floor slowly, though not nearly slow enough.

A couple of deep wheezes accompanied your movement, stretching the bruised skin along your chest and abdomen, throat burning, body screaming in protest at the jolt of pain that shot up your spine and through your legs when you were fully standing again and you focused on the pain instead of the other Hunters in the doorway, eyes glued to the floor, pale, bruised cheeks burning in humiliation and frustration at your own weakness.

 

_**PRESENT: IMPALA** _

_  
_ At least you'd been dressed in actual clothing, your bitter mind supplied, as you continued to stare blindly out the dirty back window of the Impala, not even bothering to take in the scenery as it flashed by, too caught up in your own morose replay of the horrid, emberassing events leading up to your release from that god awful whitewashed prison.

  
You should have been happier.

Greatful even. But the ever present ache pressing on your temples and the sharp pain lancing through your body at the smallest movement kept you in a right foul mood and there was nothing to be done about it.

  
The hospital scene played on a loop in your stressed out and overwhelmed mind.  
How pathetic you must be to the infamous Winchester brothers, sitting so quiet and unasuming in front of you. What a dissapointment you must have been, this broken, fragile and tormented little girl, just another victim in need of saving. How stupid you'd been to think they might understand.

To think they could see you any differently than the rest of the world did now.

Foolish.

Pitiful.

You disgraced your family with your weakness.  
Your self loathing plumeted to an all time low as you leaned against the black suede seat at your back, bandaged hands balling into fists and ripping open recently stitched cuts all along your knuckles, the blood slowly seeping through the white gauze completley escaping your notice as you continued brooding over that moment.

  
Your stomach curled in knots, suddenly feeling sick with self-hatred and your anxiety began to radiate from your body in a wave of electric current, rapidly expanding without control, until the physical incarnation of your emotional state - triggered by your own shame- peaked and exploded outward, slamming into the unprepared bodies in front of you as the energy engulfed the entire car.

At the same time a gasp escaped your lips as you experienced a feeling much like hot wax being poured along the length of your spine, the strange heat simultaneously igniting over your heart, setting your hands on fire and smoldering around the sensitive, stiched and bandaged flesh at the base of your neck just above your prominent collar bones.

It wasn't comfortable but the invisible fire suddenly bursting through your skin wasn't exactly terrible either, at the equal apex of both pain and pleasure.  
And then, without warning, the mysterious sensation vanished, leaving you cold, stunned and completely exhausted.

It took you a minute to clear your blurred vision and your already wounded chest now felt like someone had hit you with a brick.

Dean had slammed on the brakes as the energy hit him like a bolt of lightning, letting out a pained shout of surprise.

Sam must have been too close to the dash because you could now see his huge body slumped over in his seat, blood smeared across the black upholstery, though your mind supplied vaugley that he seemed to be breathing.

Smoke from the tires having been forced to grind over asphalt now ghosted past the windows on either side of you and the acridic stink of burnt rubber stung your nose.

Your limbs were heavy and your eyes had difficulty focusing on anything for more than a few seconds, on top of that it was incredibly silent, too silent in fact, you couldn't even hear yourself breathing, everything felt as though you were moving in slow motion, like you were caught in a dream.

The growing, ache of tingling numbness that crawled up your fingers and through your left palm called your attention to the strong, work worn hand that was clamped like a vice over your bloody bandaged wrist.

Whether Dean Winchester had grabbed your unbroken arm on purpose or merley because it was closer was undeterminable, though you foggily suspected the latter, as the well built Hunter shook your arm forcefully while his mouth opened and closed though your ears continued not to register sound.

He twisted around so that one knee was propped up on the seat beneath him as he leaned half over the back side, looming over you as he demanded answers and verbally punished you for the current condition of his brother. His normally brilliant green eyes were now so dark they were nearly black and his what you would once have described as classically handsome face was contorted in rage, it was as if you were staring at a completley different person than the one you'd met in the Hospital.

This man had killed people. He knew how to get answers by causing others pain, had walked the line between good and evil and crossed over more than once, though your judgemental mind argued there couldn't have been a justifiable reason to do so. Your brain, shut down by your confusion and increasing onslaught of fear wasn't functioning well enough to give him the benifit of the doubt.

As your hearing gradually began to return you realized Dean's voice was actually shaking with emotion. Not just with anger but bordering on fear. Sam still hadn't moved and his brother blamed you for whatever it was that just happened.

You frowned at him in confusion. It had been a blast of psychic energy or something to that effect, that much you had sensed. How could you have known someone would use a spell to attack the car?? You'd never even known a real witch in your life!

Your voice stuck painfully in your dry throat and your head throbbed as you tried and failed to answer him, to plead for him to release you. Instead all you could do was cringe and cower, attempting feebly to pull away and slide between the seats, ignoring your protesting body, wishing to the Gods you could hide yourself under the front seat of the impala, hide like a child on the floor and hope when you opened your eyes you'd wake up and it would all just be some terrible nightmare.

Dean shouted at you again, letting anger take over any hint of panic that had been in his tone.

"What hit us! How did you do that?? Why?!?"

He shoved your limp hand away from him, apparently deciding you weren't enough of a threat to deal with before he'd taken care of his brother. As he reached for the unconscious man you scrambled out of his reach like a firghtened animal, free now to crawl as far away as possible and shove your sleight frame as far under the under the passenger seat as possible. Biting back tears you squeezed your eyes shut tight, holding back the pained sounds you wanted to make, your wounds aching, body and mind in utter agony.

The dirty blonde's tone was now filled with concern, soothing and soft as you heard him pleading with the younger Winchester to be alright, the vehicle swaying gently as he moved around above your hiding place, ignoring your existence other than to growl out an oath that had you shivering again,

"You better hope my brother isn't injured, physically or otherwise or it will be the very last thing I allow you to do."

You wrapped your arms tightly around your still much too thin body, hugging yourself painfully tight in a useless attempt to stop from shaking. Your recently gifted, too large sweater stuck uncomfortably to your torso and scratched the delicate, raw skin across your back. Re-opened lesions and ripped stitching from your hysterical attempt to conceal yourself stained the once comforting polyester red and tarnished the hard surface of the vehicle floor.

How could he possibly blame you for that blast of power, energy, electricy... whatever it had been? You were no witch. No supernatural. You were a Hunter, one of the good guys... weren't you?

The power you'd felt surround you had burned, but only briefly and before you'd had time to question it you'd nearly lost consiousness. The energy had obviously targeted the Winchesters in a much more violent and painful way, thus causing your near accident on the empty highway. But why would you harm the men trying to help you?  
Your mind tried and failed to connect the pieces as you became increasingly paranoid that perhaps this was an attack meant to disable the other Hunters only, leaving you to whoever had performed the magic.

But as far as you knew Lucifer had never used powers of that kind, or magic that you could recall. Just as you'd convinced yourself that HE couldn't be involved, your already irrational thoughts provided nagging fears, casting doubt, reminding you that he had so many devoted, obedient followers, children who would hunt you with pleasure and readily return you to their master.

It had to be him. Pure terror momentarilly blinded your ability to reason.

He was already coming back for his plaything.


	13. We are all Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy's POV, explains how they found Sunny.  
> Takes place instead of what happened in the canon episode 5.3 "Free to be you and me"

 

"You know I can't trust you anymore Sam."

 

  
_You should have never trusted me Dean. I'm a freak.  I'm just like the the monsters you chase every day_.

The decision to leave had been easy after that.

Easy because Dean had finally realized what Sam really was.

That he'd been the one holding them back all these years.   
Sam would never amount to anything.  
A disappointment.  
Daddy's Golden Boy had always been Dean, right?

Sam never got to go on hunts.

Never got phone calls.

Never even knew that he was the son of the Legendary John Winchester.

If only John had know how powerful his baby boy really was.  How strong he would become.  Maybe he would have spent more time molding little Sammy into his perfect Prodigy.

Jealousy is an ugly, wicked thing.

It spreads it's poison like a cancer, eating away at a person until they are filled with a darkness that consumes every waking thought, seeping into their dreams and feeding anger and despair, spreading it's tentacles of hatred. distrust and discord. 

Sam had been all but devoured by his own jealousy his entire life.  He always felt he needed to prove himself to anyone and everyone he encountered, especially Dean.

When Ruby, the sly vixen, showed him that he could rid the world of Demons and save the human Host he'd thrown his conscience out the window and eagerly followed her guidance. 

The power he'd felt was intoxicating.

He felt enlightened. And his jealousy lapped it all up like a drug. 

Feeding his insecurities, satiating the voices in his head, giving him super human abilities that would make his brother sick with envy.

So his Darkness told him.

Except that when Dean found out his brother had been using powers and drinking  blood to save people he'd treated Sam just like another monster.  

It burnt.

The hole in Sam's heart from the rejection festered and was infected with guilt.  

With his monster running wild inside Sam had been all too eager to grab his bag and leave.

He had almost faded away, lost without his brother.

It had been pure chance that the demons he'd been following ended up getting gutted by a pair of Hunters, and he'd happened to overhear them talking about the sudden increase in Demon activity and how it was due to Lucifer having lost something precious to him. 

This something being a mortal.

A Hunter. 

A hunter who'd escaped him.

Sam tailed them long enough to figure out where said Hunter had been Hospitalized and and he put aside his wounded pride and tail between his legs, bottled his emotions and called Dean.  
 

He'd found a lead.

 

It had surprised him that the Hunter was a female.   
It shocked him when he realized she was some sort of empath and could show him memories of the past through touch.  At the time he'd thought it was his own supernatural power that had ripped the images from her head.  
Cocky, he'd been under the assumption that he was somehow better than other hunters, because of his gift.   
But she had turned that notion up side down and left him wondering what else she was capable of.  He assumed she knew of knew powers, after all that was probably the reason Lucifer valued her so much.

But when he felt the shock of her emotions suddenly bubbling over them in the Impala he only had a second to realize she was projecting without knowing and then everything went black.  
     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this even though it's a bit of a change.  
> It will give insight into the dynamic between Lucifer and the Winchester's later on in the fic.
> 
> I am writing and updating without use of an actual computer so it's been a real pain formatting and editing my work, please bear with me!
> 
> Feedback greatly appreciated!
> 
> <3 Em


	14. The Disease called Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the unexpected attack on the Winchester's and their reluctant passenger the extent of the damage is revealed. 
> 
> Finding Sam unconscious Dean takes action against their female traveling companion accusing her of working for the enemy. 
> 
> With powerful emotions inexplicably brought to the surface the brothers are faced with their own demons and in doing so revisit certain feelings rather kept buried. 
> 
> Can the Hunters come together to solve the mysterious threat or will their own internal battles tear them apart from the inside out before turning them against each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on getting this edited and ready to post every spare second I have (which isn't much time) and am really excited to finally present it to you all!
> 
> I'm back to being without a computer so I'll be foregoing the chapter art until I get another. 
> 
> Hope you guys have enjoyed the much anticipated inclusion of the Winchester's and their interaction with Sunny.
> 
> From here I plan to continue with some reprieve for our beloved characters from the nitty gritty horror show you've been accustomed to thus far and really hope that my readers are still as engrossed in the story despite the change in atmosphere. 
> 
> You can expect much more dialogue and emotional content as the three Hunters are forced to rely on one another and join forces against Lucifer, and as the brothers are finally integrated into main characters.
> 
> So obviously a good deal more Sammy and Dean in the chapters to follow before the inevitable return of Lucifer in all three Hunters lives. 
> 
> I can't get enough of your amazing, humbling and helpful comments guys! Please continue leaving feedback!
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has given Kudos as well.   
> You're all amazing.   
> Enjoy!!

 

The sleek black body of the 1967 Impala sat forlornly on the side of the desolate interstate.  The sun was slowly disappearing over the distant edge of the tree lined horizon bathing the automobile in a warm, fire like glow and yet her classic beauty was overshadowed by a dark cloud of nearly tangible fear, concussion and heartache tainting the air with gloom.

"I'm sorry."

The apology, brimming with quiet desperation, fell on deaf ears, just as the last four had.  Anguished silence roared within the confines of the stalled vehicle, screaming like a mad beast, surrounding the hunched, broad shouldered figure within. His conscious state betrayed him, allowing the tangible oppression to caress his weary soul, easily enveloping his body like cellophane closing in from all directions, suffocating him with an overwhelming feeling of despair.  Emerald eyes glistened in the dying light of the sun, tears threatening to break free from the dark hazel lashes that still stubbornly struggled to contain them.

"I'm sorry for making you leave."  A wounded, heart wrenching sound struggled to escape from deep within the broken man, chest tightening as he barely managed to silence the physical betrayal of his pent up guilt.  He didn't know exactly what made him finally confess, what forced the stubbornly denied apology from his trembling lips but he was unable to continue acting as though he'd been justified in giving up on Sam despite his mistake, ultimately Dean had chosen his job over taking the time to mend their relationship and giving Sam a chance to prove he could be trusted again, that he truly was repentant for his actions and that he would take responsibility for the consequences by fully embracing his inherited obligation as a Hunter and letting go of any affiliation with the very evils the were sworn to destroy. Instead Dean chose the easier, more selfish path by blaming Sam and turning his back on him in a time where he'd needed guidance the most.

It was impossible to maintain his much prided composure staring down at the deceptively peaceful face of his unconscious baby brother as he cradled the taller young man in his tired arms just like he had so many times before, back when Sam was actually smaller and fit in his lap, times when Dean gave his sibling a safe place to cry and comforted the boy as their father should have.

They'd been in worse situations before hadn't they? 

They always pulled through, together. 

They always found a way.

So what changed?

Why did this disaster feel so different?

Why did he feel so utterly lost, vulnerable and helpless right now??

His thighs ached, his calves were burning and his feet were going numb from the awkward, half crouched position he'd taken up in the middle of the spacious pew style front seat, one leg tucked underneath him, the other resting booted toes first on the floor near the pedals.  
He'd pulled Sam's lanky frame partially across his lap after his first few attempts to wake the brunette had failed.  Wisely he'd been hesitant to move the other Hunter for fear of internal injuries at first and had examined him the best he could but other than the blood on the side of his handsome, tan face, from a cut along the top of his right eyebrow and a bloody nose (which he'd managed to stop without too much trouble) Dean couldn't see any other wounds and Sam's breathing while shallow, was steady.

Despite his logical Hunter mind telling him Sam would live he was still worried about the steadily increasing length of time in which his sibling remained unconscious.  To make matters worse insecure, doubting voices whispered non-stop, nagging at the back of his mind that it was quite possible he had received a serious head injury from the blunt force trauma received when his skull connected with Baby's dashboard.

After a few moments of uncertain silence and still no change Dean couldn't help himself and gave into the protective, possessive, hissing voices goading him to act on his emotions with an uncharacteristic display of affection, having nearly forgotten about the other human being in the car with them.  She had stopped making noises a minute ago, maybe five, he hadn't kept track, he just knew for now she didn't pose a viable threat at the moment, and Sam came first.

Hugging the younger man close to him Dean squeezed his arms tightly around Sam's denim clad carhart shoulders and tried to rouse him again, voice rising in the dimly lit cab.

"You hear me Sam??!"

The body in his arms felt so lifeless, cold even, it was all Dean could do not to scream in his face, and shake him till he came to his senses.

How many times had he nearly lost Sam?  His Sammy.  How many times had Sam been put in harms way following his big brothers footsteps?

"Now quit being a bitch and stop playing around!"  The words caught painfully in his dry throat, losing any harshness as his voice cracked, his tongue scraping like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight he stubbornly refused to let his tears fall, pressing his stubbled cheek against the side of Sam's head, inhaling the woodsy, almond infused scent of his soft, chestnut locks.

"Damnit Sam!"

Dean pitifully clutched the body held close to his chest, hugging the still form even tighter.  
In the split second following his ringing ears somehow registered a low moan and Sam's tired voice croaked unhappily from between his arms as he prodded his older brother in the ribs with a bony finger, though the jab lacked any real strength,

"Trying to kill me Jerk?"

With incredible swiftness the eldest Winchester released him from his embrace and carefully helped him sit up, leaning his unyielding body gently back against the passenger side door, angling his long legs slightly sideways towards the middle of the dash so the wounded Hunter could stretch himself out if he chose.

Sam gave a nod of thanks as his unsteady hands released their hold below the collar of his brothers well worn, olive green hunting jacket, a jacket he secretly loved. For the briefest of moments stealing comfort in the familiar coarseness of the fabric under his slender fingers.  With a solely inward sigh of regret he broke contact completely and used the need to arrange himself more comfortably as an excuse to avoid eye contact.

In doing so he missed Dean's perfectly timed and thorough removal of any lingering and residual tears from his eyes, cheeks and chin by using the crook of his arm to wipe his face, unwilling to appear emotionally comprised.

Sam tried to quell his brief onslaught of melancholy thoughts brought on by that one small touch, the sense of peace he'd felt at the brief connection made him wish he could curl back up in that safe familiarity forever.  Disgusted with himself he attempted to banish his useless, pathetic craving for affection, it was unprofessional and childish, especially at a time like this!

He had long loathed his weakness, his crippling desire for approval and never ending longing to be loved.

Sam knew from his many Therapists over the years that his "affection disorder" simply stemmed from his loveless and lonely childhood and that he'd clung to the one person who remained in his life, his older brother.  Naturally he eventually began noticing the hole inside of him, the emptiness and his attachment became unhealthy dependency.  Therefore it was obvious his strong feelings and emotions regarding his brother, which confused and frustrated him to no end, were merely a product of his own skewed perception of Dean's role in his life.  He just needed to break away from their codependent lifestyle and find his own way, take control of his life.

...

That's what the shrinks all kept telling him with varying degrees of pity and detached interest.

He had decided finally that Therapy was a damn waste of his time.

You don't leave Family.

Cause in the End... Family is all you got.

Hindered by his own emotional turmoil and focused on his brothers physical injuries Dean remained blind to Sams own internal conflict.  Once he'd realized the brunette was awake he'd instinctively withdrawn back into the comfort of his 'man in charge' leadership role as if he were the confident, tough as nails, business first Winchester he'd been honed into all through childhood and into the early part of his adult life.  The kind of Hunter John Winchester would approve of.  All signs of emotional weakness, any hint that he'd been utterly distraught moments before was swiftly walled away, carefully hidden behind the facade of a cool, collected, even slightly intimidating man.

As if to prove nothing had shaken him he even gave his brother a ghost of his snarky, crooked grin and countered without missing a beat,

"I didn't have to do much.  You fainted all on your own."

The playful jest seemed to have an immediate effect on the palpable tension in the air eliciting a quiet laugh from Sam though he cut himself off quickly with a grimace at the pain it caused his ribs.

"Don't make me laugh, jerk!" the glare he gave his companion held none of it's usual strength and lasted half as long, nonetheless it lifted Dean's spirits and he felt himself smile despite the whole situation even if it was only on the inside.

Unconsciously Sam ran a large, shaky hand through his abnormally unruly hair so that it no longer obstructed his view or tickled his face, then began taking a few deep test breaths, pleased that none of them hurt his lungs or ribs as the attempted laugh had and surmised he would have no lasting damage from the accident.

The accident.

His eyes met Dean's with sudden clarity, his face awash with intense worry, confusion and shock as the recent events abruptly came flooding back to him.

_The constant, uncomfortable silence between the three of them as they drove, none of them wishing to bring up the horribly tragic conversation with the Doctor who'd been overseeing the female Hunter's recovery._

_The girl was obviously embarrassed by the incident that had followed which revealed she'd been listening to the physician voice his hurtful assumptions about her mental health to the fake FBI Agents and been dealt a shocking emotional blow when she overheard the arrogant, self absorbed Doctor reveal a serious long term consequence of her sexual assault._

_Her initial embarrassment had given way to a unconvincing mask as she pretended the news didn't matter in the least and even treated her chaperones as if they had had some hand in exposing her eavesdropping, refusing to make eye contact, staying as far away as physically possible and not uttering a damn word._

_It had been easy for Sam to see through the surface anger and glimpse her inner turmoil before she'd even begun to project her distress._

_The way she'd looked so broken, lost within her thoughts and the moment he'd FELT that sadness actually become anger._

_The second he realized what was going on and the void he glimpsed swallow all light from her eyes, turning them one solid color from pupil to iris, bleeding from the center out till both were a dark smoke gray color that even seemed to move just as smoke would._

_He'd turned in his seat to cry out in warning._

_A warning he never managed to convey to his brother, a warning he had failed to give her in time to keep any of them safe._

_He was sure he'd been screaming as white hot pain lanced through his body but he couldn't remember hearing anything at all._   


_He'd felt his whole body become rigid as seizures rode through him in waves as if he was being continuously electrocuted._

 

_There had been SO much pain inside and out, so intense he'd feared the fire burning through his veins would never end._

 

_Time seemed to stop, trapping him in constant, writhing pain and his body was sapped of all energy as his muscles spasmed continuously in response to the electrical current accosting him._

 

_Just as he had considered the real possibility that this might actually be the end he'd been tugged forward, his body doubled over from the force and like a gift from heaven he was simultaneously free from the volts of pure energy that had first incapacitated him._

_He'd felt his body go immediately limp with exhaustion and was unable to protect himself from the sharp blow to his upper torso that landed between his chest plate and right shoulder so hard he was sure his shoulder dislocated and his breath was forced from his lungs as the wind was knocked out of him as well._

 

_If his eyesight had returned to him by that point perhaps he could have avoided his next injury, but all he'd been able to see despite his eyes being wide open was an endless sea of white pierced intermittently by pulsing dark spots and his hearing remained lost completely._

 

_He'd had a half a breath in which to attempt recovering from the force that had pummeled into his chest before his head had then exploded with an all new kind of pain as if he'd run into a wall and stabbed above one eye in tandem, though at the time he had been in no shape to be making comparisons._

 

  
_At this point he'd literally been knocked senseless so he couldn't remember when the stabbing sensation had been interrupted but it had, giving way to a choking wave of endless despair and as it swiftly succeeded in drowning him he had finally lapsed into darkness._

The intensely vivid memory of the recent events leading to the accident brought on an involuntary shudder as his body remembered the immense amount of torment he had endured nearly all at once.

They'd gotten in a car accident hadn't they? 

NOT a car accident.  

Was it even an accident at all?

It had to be.

There was only one person who could give him answers and as his replay of events ended with nothing but questions Sam abruptly turned his head towards the back of the Impala,  his gaze landing on the last place he'd seen the girl with smoke for eyes. 

An empty, blood smeared seat was all that greeted him.

 

 


	15. Twilight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! I know it's short I'm sorry! Haven't had computer/word access so i'm working on getting that remedied. Thank you guys for your comments and kudos I love and appreciate each one!!!   
> ~Em

Hazel eyes widened before Sam snapped his head - much too quickly - back to his brother and opened his mouth to demand the whereabouts of their passenger, suddenly alarmed that his conclusion had been wrong and you’d been taken or worse, fought Dean and came out the loser.

"Where's-" 

Already ahead of him, his older sibling held up a hand with a scowl,

"Don't worry.  The culprit is still with us."

Dean's voice no longer held even the slightest trace of levity, instantly replaced with anger and accusation.  He jerked a thumb in the direction of the floor beneath the passenger seat, voice grave as he explained in a low, aggravated tone,

"I tried getting her to talk after I came to and found you knocked out, bleedin’ from your freakin’ face but the damn witch just went catatonic on me!  I figured there's no use questioning her in that state and I was more worried about you- you know, couldn't have you dyin’ on me.'' 

The last part came out defensively and he shrugged his shoulders as if they were weighing him down continuing quickly,

''So, now we can figure what the hell kind of mess we got ourselves into by breaking her out of that hospital and find out who she's working for."

A man with a plan.  

The scruffy blonde ended his sentence with a confident nod, arms crossed, shoulders back, jaw set. 

Yes indeed.  Easy as pie.

Sam leaned over the back of his seat gingerly, dread tightening his stomach in knots at his brothers confession and the knowledge that Dean hadn't yet realized what he had, that the other Hunter was merely a victim of her own emotions and utterly clueless about her abilities!

With growing concern his wide gaze swept over the slick, crimson stained suede seat behind them, his worry quickly turning to fear as he took in the blood trail smeared along the bottom of the Impala floor which disappeared into a slowly but surely expanding pool seeping out from underneath the cotton, sweat clad knees of their female passenger.

The upper half of your body was mostly hidden below where he sat in the passenger seat.  One frail, ghostly pale arm lay motionless centimeters from a shiny puddle of your own blood which fanned out into the thin worn carpet beneath you, staining the now ruined, once worn clothing you’d been so grateful for.

The off-white gauze covering your knuckles, wrists and up to your elbows looked like someone had begun painting dot-to-dot pictures and given up half way through, red welling up to the surface as stitches and staples had torn and wounds reopened but all that blood had to be coming from your torso, under the sweater.

"Jesus Dean..." Sam's voice cracked, his mouth open in shock.

The eldest Hunter tilted his head over the drivers seat with one eyebrow raised at the horror-struck look on Sam's face and swore loudly as he got his first good look at the gritty scene in the back seat.  After he'd released your hands and begun attending to Sam, Dean had figured you'd just sat on the Impala floor whimpering as you’d refused to speak any further.  He had been so preoccupied with his baby brother that he hadn't noticed you lose consciousness.  

Mentally berating himself his mood darkened.

Damn it all, it would be just my luck if she offed herself accidentally while trying to kill us both, now I’ll have no answers and a dead body!

Not Dean Winchesters idea of fun.

Sam's large frame tensed as he began to lean over the seat, his momentum abruptly halted as a forceful hand clamped down on one shoulder before he’d had a chance to vault himself into the backseat and help you.

"Sit.'' Dean boomed gruffly pairing the command with an I SHIT YOU NOT look of disapproval.

''I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I want answers just as much as you do.  She's still breathing, so we're in business.  Last thing I need is you getting hurt again."

A shadow swept over his handsome features for the briefest moment, the next second his face hardened as if with more resolve.

"Get me something to tie her hands."  

The order was followed by the familiar metal on metal screech of much used hinges voicing protest at the opening of the drivers side door then more creaking accompanied by a whump and slight shift of the car as he folded the seat forward to gain access to the rear of his badly stained Baby, unable to help muttering a few curses while doing so.  As he leaned over to pull the wounded young woman from under Sam's seat he found his way blocked by Sam's left hand, pressed flat against his chest to stop him.

"Wait!"  Sam's face had paled and he must have looked as sick as he felt because a frown darkened his companions face and he saw the anger and confusion in the sharp green eyes watching him.

"What the hell for?  It's not like I BASHED HER HEAD into the dash!"

"Dean- I know!  It's not that, she didn't mean to!  It wasn't her fault!"  He spoke quickly, well aware Dean would rather get rid of the apparent danger and ask questions later.

"Bullshit!  We're all alone out here if you didn't notice."

"I know.  Just listen to me.  I think she's an empath."  Silence. Zero recognition in Dean's gaze.

"An EMPATH Dean."

Dean gave him a long look and for a second Sam thought he might have gotten on the same page and then he snorted, rolling his eyes for good measure and gestured with his hands emphatically,

"Like some kind of X-Man?  Right, please Sam, curb your undignified nerdiness for one second." He huffed, bending over again and shoving his brother’s hand out of the way in annoyance.

Despite the fact that he considered you to be a potential threat he did try to be gentle as he grasped your hands and all but peeled you out from the sticky, red stained hiding spot you'd jammed your bony frame into.

With visible effort to avoid touching your bandaged limbs he pulled the sleeves of your baggy sweater down over your arms, propping your slender frame back against the rear seat and finally bringing your blood slicked hands together over your lap, looking expectantly at his brother who still hadn't gotten out to get any bonds like he'd asked.

"Stop Dean!" Sam brushed his brother’s hands away freeing you from his hold like he was batting at a particularly bothersome fly

"Would you-" Dean growled moodily, glaring daggers,

"Go get something before she wakes up and tries hexing us again for fucks sake!  What's wrong with you?!"

He smacked the brunette's own long fingered hands away and reached for their prisoners again.

"Dean! Damnit you stubborn son of a bitch!  She didn't hex us.  She's not a witch!"  

He received another incredulous glare and pointedly ignored it almost stumbling on his words as he continued trying to get them out so fast, trying to make Dean see,

"She can project energy based on the emotions she's feeling.  I-I don't think she even knows she has abilities!  I just assumed she _knew_ in the hospital but I didn't even bother to ask.” Guilt burdened his words but he refused to waste time beating himself up and kept going, 

“She's not our enemy!  She’s a **_Hunter_** , Dean.  If anything she needs our help now more than she did before."

 ** _We owe her that much_**.

The unsaid words were clear in his eyes.

He was giving Dean that damn puppy dog look again and the older man scoffed, looking down at the unconscious stranger so he wouldn't be swayed by those pleading eyes that always got the better of him.  Always, damn him.

"We don't owe anyone-"

"But we do Dean!" Sam cut him off almost breathless, pleading and pulled his brothers grip from your arms just as you regained consciousness, eyes wide, hands coming up instinctively to cover your body, the metallic scent of blood overwhelming.

"What.Happened." your voice was stronger than you felt yet it still shook with underlying confusion and terror.

The Winchester brothers stared at you with uncertainty, simultaneously exchanging a look that was lost on you. Sam seemed to be pleased with his brother’s perplexity and Dean's frown deepened, though you felt his hostility was now directed elsewhere.  It gave you a certain amount of comfort, enabling you to regain your composure much faster.  No one moved, you all looked like shit and you’d bled all over their car but you were sure if there was a threat it had somehow passed.  You felt drained mentally and physically and were suddenly starving.  Into the silence you heard yourself jest,

“Pretty sure one of us at least deserves a fucking burger and I’m thirsty enough my own blood is starting to look tasty.  Don’t let me turn into one of those sparkling bitches….” Sam at least got your joke as you heard the hearty sound of his laugh accompanied by,

“God no! No Twilight Vampires allowed….” Before you passed out from blood loss.  Good thing you had two of the best Hunters watching your back.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~IN ANOTHER PART OF THE WORLD NOT SO FAR AWAY ~*~*~*~*~*~

_Lucifer sighed with satisfaction, feeling the tug of power as his Marked Beloved let loose a surge of energy from somewhere much too far away for his liking._

_Lips curling he grinned, his voice dark and greedy, slithering loudly into the minds of his ever present entourage of Demons,_

_'Well now, let's see what has my little ray of Sunshine shining so bright.''_


	16. What'chya Got For Me??

UPDATE! (AS OF: 1/29/17)

What POV would you like the Winchester Chapters to be in? (*see notes before answering please!)

FIRST Person (I)

SECOND Person (You)

THIRD Person (He/She)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader Poll:  
> Would you like reading Chapters written in First Person from Dean and Sam's individual POV's  
> as well as the normal Chapters written in Second Person ("you" perspective)?  
> Currently most of the Sam/Dean scenes have been written in Third Person (He/She) before changing mid Chapter (give or take) to Second Person (usual "reader perspective")
> 
> I thought it might  
> be interesting, just an idea. I personally like reading Reader Inserts in First Person like my Fangirl Imagine Series is written, but thats just me and I have tried to stick to Second Person with Finding Eden other than the Dream/FearScapes.
> 
> Let me know what you really think!  
> I've got nearly two chapters edited and ready to post, just want to know how ya'll would prefer the chapters/scenes where the boys are the prevalent characters to read - since there are many more to follow.
> 
> Love ya'll,
> 
> ~Emery~
> 
> *********
> 
> *********  
> [Previously in a Dark/Rainy Corner of the world:]
> 
> I regret to inform you that this isn't an update on my grievously neglected story, it is just a short bit of text to inform you of current tragedies that continuously insist upon befalling me making it very near impossible to continue my fan fiction let alone get anything else done in my life. 
> 
> Got two teeth pulled >_< One on each side, one top, one bottom so there's no "good side" to chew on.
> 
> I rescued 2 kittens.... Grimes (so named due to having one eye, just like Carl Grimes in TWD) and Castiel (the runt, who is so near sighted he's practically blind).  
>  Out of nowhere Grimes exhibits antisocial behavior, shivering, heavy breathing and pale gums (very bad for kitties). Upon Vet exam (xrays) it is concluded Grimes has fluid in his lungs. Best case scenario is Pneumonia, worst is Feline Leukaemia. Sent home with antibiotics, can't afford further tests/treatment. Now Castiel is showing same symptoms!! 
> 
> So, on a regimen of meds every 6 hours and syringe feeding food every 4 hours I have my work cut out for me. On top of work and everything else. So there's that... I love y'all. Will continue when life gives me a break!  
>  ~Em


	17. Hunters B&B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking some R&R

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much going on, still trying to write! I have so much love for this story and not enough time to give.

Begrudgingly Dean had to give it to the new kid, she put even his voracious appetite to shame.  
The slightly rested, much less bloody trio of Hunters now sat in the small but comfortable, homey   
black and white tiled kitchen in the heart of the Winchesters only real home excluding the beloved   
Impala who currently needed a detailed interior cleaning before they could expect to even touch the   
aged leather interior without being stained with half dried blood.

The brothers had been beyond relieved when their SOS call had been received and answered so   
quickly by none other than their most trusted friend and fellow Hunter, Bobby Singer. After a quick   
(but lovingly thorough) check under the smooth black hood of their faithful '67 Impala to assure they  
were indeed free of any Hex bags or unexplained damage Dean had deemed it safe enough for them  
to continue their journey post haste, without stopping to rest along the way as previously planned.  
Sam had steady hands and a more than mediocre degree of medical training for which his older   
brother was more than a little grateful, and he'd allowed the brunette take the lead in keeping their   
strange guest alive while Dean did what he did best, easing the gas petal to the floor with practiced   
ease, the sleek body of his baby sliding back onto the highway in a cloud of dust and pebbles.

The drive to Sioux Falls, South Dakota had been long and it had taken every ounce of their   
combined strength to keep each other awake but somehow, in true Winchester fashion they   
managed to reach their goal alive and reasonably unharmed if not a bit unsettled by the   
unexpected turn of events involving their new Hunter companion.

The second they had arrived at the old, looming moss covered house at the heart of the Singer   
Compound the burly, red bearded lumberjack of a man who owned the scrap yard and   
surrounding property had come bursting out of the towering, multi-level wooden cabin with grim   
purpose etched into his gruff features. The ancient looking screen door had screeched in protest   
as it flung open so far the bottom stuck in the marred red wood of the porch briefly before the rusty   
metal hinges loudly coaxed the weather worn frame shut again, banging closed with a crack loud  
enough it echoed into the strained silence surrounding them.

Upon closer inspection of the blood soaked, skeletal body hanging lifeless in the bulk of Sam's   
strong arms Bobby Singer's demeanor changed from concerned to surprised a flash of recognition   
contorting his features for the briefest of seconds before quickly taking the unconscious young   
woman into his own arms and with no explanation as to his reaction the older man had barked   
orders for the boys to rest, waving their questions away with a weathered hand as he bustled back   
into the giant, multi-windowed cabin, disappearing into the lower level of the home and leaving   
the two weary travelers alone for the first time in nearly a week.

It didn't take long for exhaustion to overcome their bruised and emotionally battered bodies and  
when Bobby had finally finished treating to their guest, washing and re-dressing her extensive   
wounds as best as he could, tucking her carefully into the large, cushioned cot within the protected   
walls of the Panic Room he himself had proudly designed he had returned to the main floor of his   
home to find the boys passed out in the middle of the antique couch placed nearly in the middle of   
the rustic living room and he couldn't help the half smile that had tugged the corner of his mouth   
at the comical sight. 

Sam's huge bootless feet were tucked absurdly underneath his large frame, unruly hair fell across   
his eyes as he leaned against his brother, his bruised face almost peaceful despite the lines of   
dried blood that spread out from his nose and the thick scab covering the side of his lower lip   
while Dean had his own feet, still confined in his combat boots perched on the book strewn coffee   
table directly in front of the couch, their backs were slumped against the worn fabric, the blondes   
wounded head leaning against his brothers taller shoulder, mouth open slightly as he snored.   
Under the watchful eye of Bobby Singer the three Hunters had gotten their first real rest in days. 

What a welcome reprieve that had been too, Dean mused as he continued studying their much   
more animated, still enigmatic guest who had yet to say more than a few words since emerging   
from the safe room downstairs clothed in a many-sizes-too-big, long sleeve, green-checkered,   
plaid fleece button up of Sam's and an equally too long pair of navy sweats that she'd somehow   
managed to tie up below her knees and some ankle socks of Deans that comically flopped off   
her toes every so often until she gingerly bent to pull them back up. The exposed skin from   
knee to ankle on either leg was now free from cast and bandages thanks to a certain trench coat   
clad Angel who'd healed the worst of her injuries while she was still unconscious.  
Though the wounds were healing Castiel had warned the Winchesters that he'd been unable to   
heal the deepest of the injuries despite his best efforts, as if they were imprinted permanently, a   
fact that seemed to disturb the celestial being deeply though he refused to discuss it further. He   
also briefly noted there was nothing he could do about any non-physical damage she acquired at   
the hands of his fallen brother. His way of saying he wasn't able to heal emotional wounds.

Even without the unsightly, bulky bandages and swelling her legs were still crisscrossed with stitched   
lacerations and painted with multi-colored bruises that hurt just looking at them.   
It was a wonder she was walking at all, let alone without the aid of crutches.

The young Hunter's facial features were much easier to make out now that most of the swelling   
and stitches were get a glimpse of the tough, intelligent Hunter beneath.   
Yes the scars were shocking, but having seen the gaping wounds they once were it was much easier   
to look past and gone and while a few bruises still shadowed her face she was able to fully open   
both eyes, the ruptured blood vessels around the worst eye had healed to their natural white and   
the puncture wounds framing her lips looked less like holes and more like pinkish dots.   
As scrawny and malnourished as she appeared there was nothing weak about her appetite it seemed  
and if Dean hadn't been physically present to witness her wolf down the takeout Bobby had been kind   
enough to grab them all he simply wouldn't have believed it was possible to fit that mass into such a tiny body.

He'd been positive after two triple cheeseburgers w/extra rabbit food (vegetables), a large fry,   
large order of onion rings and TWO slices of HIS apple pie that she couldn't possibly still be hungry.  
His brother sat quite still directly across the table, picking at his salad rather than eating it, hazel eyes   
purposefully avoiding direct contact with their guest and Dean caught him occasionally hiding bemused   
looks at the impressive feat of food being consumed. 

It was made even more astonishing by the fact that not only had the food been eaten but somehow she had   
miraculously made no mess whatsoever on the table, herself or the floor around her.   
Internally he couldn't help but halfheartedly complain,   
"She's makin' me look bad."


	18. Hungry Hunters

Having come to in yet another unfamiliar place dressed in nothing but your under wear had sent you into a panic.  
Thankfully your environment eased your fear quite quickly.   
Most people wouldn’t find the cylindrical steel walls and the giant hand painted devils trap that covered the entire   
floor beneath your bare feet as reassuring as it made you. But then again most people weren't Hunters and most   
people didn't have the Devil himself coming for them.

Nearly every square inch of the walls had faint symbols, sigils and protections painted on it's surface.   
A mastermind of a design really. If the decor hadn't eased your mind enough the wood framed picture sitting  
on the antique looking four drawer dresser opposite the door would have.   
Three smiling faces frozen in time. The two men you now recognized as THE Winchesters, Sam and Dean looked   
years younger, though from the height and hairstyles you were certain it couldn't have been taken more than a  
year prior. Hunting had surely taken it's toll. 

It was only going to get worse and if you couldn't stop it you'd all be dead...

Shivers ran the length of your bare spine and you pushed the thoughts away focusing on the third person in the   
photograph, a sense of familiarity tugging insistently at the back of your mind only to slip away the harder you   
thought about it. For some reason you felt this friend of the Winchesters could be trusted, at least as much (if   
not more so) than the brother themselves. Between the warded room and the possibility of meeting more allies   
you allowed yourself to relax enough to decide you were in a safe place, for now. Safe enough to explore   
cautiously... with clothing of course. 

There were clothes laid out for you atop the two drawer nightstand next to the incredibly comfortable cot you'd   
been sleeping on and you couldn’t help but sigh in appreciation of the clean soft flannel against your   
miraculously healed skin. Taking advantage of the freedom from the restriction of the bandages you stretched   
your sore but functional muscles flexing your hands one bruised, spindly finger at a time.  
It seemed impossible that you were alive, yet here you were and your body was no longer broken.   
There were scars, many scars yes. But they were smooth not so jagged and ugly as you'd expect them to be.   
His marks were all still very prominent, just as he'd wanted for everyone to see. But with your bodies excelorated   
healing of all the other wounds it was easier to ignore the marks and those you couldn't hide you would wear like   
medals of honor. 

Yes, I survived this shit. 

I will not die without a fight.

With those thoughts you'd had the courage to step outside the safe room and walk up the stairs to face the   
two men who'd brought you here. You'd been planning on asking what their next moves would be against   
Lucifer, creating a plan and such. The moment you stepped foot on the green and white checkered linoleum   
floor your nose had caught the scent of something amazing and your stomach had taken over bringing you to   
the table before Sam had finished saying,   
"Here's that burger if you're still hungry?"  
How he'd gotten so much food and had it ready at just the right time you didn't know and at that point you didn't care.

The overwhelming combination of flavors filled your mouth and left you hungry for more, though you were   
quite sure you'd burst if you had anything else to eat. Still you managed the last swigs of the incredible   
strawberry ice cream shake with loud, greedy satisfaction, the cream still thick and frozen not even having   
a chance to thaw before you'd devoured enough to feed a small family, or maybe one Dean Winchester you   
noted in silent amusement at his not so covert glances at the food during your ravenous feast.  
There were questions to be answered and now you were ready for them.


	19. Who's the Alpha?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the Winchesters just exactly how submissive you aren't. Ready to delve into the mystery of their near death experience you decide to take matters into your own hands when you begin to feel as if they see you as only a witness with valuable intel that could lead to the demise of Lucifer. With a full stomach and a clear head you you finally have enough of Dean's brooding and slyly challenge his unquestioned authority as the dominant figure between the three of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY another chapter for you all! <3 Sorry it takes me so long to edit and finally post new stuff, but I am getting better at finding time to fit it in. Lots of love to all of you who've stuck w/me this whole time and THANK YOU for all the kudos, and as always comments and suggestions are welcome and ENCOURAGED! <3 
> 
> [Side note to anyone who was wondering, Grimes and Castiel (my kittens who were sick) are doing great and fat and happy! My ankle is no longer broken -hurray! I can run now! The branch that went through my window is gone and everything is repaired. So things are slowly getting back to normal at my place.]
> 
> Can't thank ya'll enough for your support!
> 
> ~Em

Instead of the composed, all business Agents the young men had originally interviewed you as upon meeting the atmosphere felt more like you were the adult who'd just caught your kids stealing cookies from the cookie jar red handed and neither one wanted to fess up or talk first.

After about 120 painfully awkward seconds (yes, you counted) in which you fidgeted with the remaining paper takeout cup and it's plastic lid and partially chewed straw which was now dry as a bone you'd found yourself regretting having led the whole damn thing so fast. For now there was not even a drop of the sweet, liquefied ice cream left for you to attempt busying yourself with while your Hosts decided what exactly it was they wanted to happen next, and though you'd adverted their gazes after the first minute of silence out of courtesy the feel of their eyes on you still was making you squirm and it was taking all your resolve not to physically show your discomfort. Your eyes took a quick survey of the fast food wrappers you'd folded neatly into tiny squares still sitting to the left of your cup next to the equally neat, but obviously used napkins crushed tightly into grease soiled, white balls next to the wrappers and then scanned the entirety of the table and the area around your eating space just to make sure you'd consumed everything you had been given in case they were waiting for you to fully finish your meal. 

Maybe you'd read their body language wrong but neither had seemed t all interested in food after you sucked the last bit of shake from the cardboard glass in your hand. At the overly loud, tell tale sound that your creamy, frozen, delicious and much too short lived treat had met it's end you could have sworn it was as if they suddenly stopped pretending to carry on like you were just three fellow Hunters sharing a desperately needed and well deserved meal together. Instead you got the distinct impression the food had been more to placate you, to bring your guard down and give you the feeling of inclusion and equality so maybe your tongue might loosen up as well and you'd give them answers they couldn't even give themselves.  
That had to be what they wanted, more answers about Lucifer and how his pawns had managed to incapacitate not just yourself, but the infamous Hunter brothers before you who had more kills under their belts individually than most Hunters could hope for in their lifetime.

Your doubtful mind began to fabricate an explanation of the events leading to this moment as you struggled to make sense of the car wreck and were met with too many holes in your memories, the pictures all blurred together and punctured intermittently with extreme bursts of intense varied emotions. In fact the emotions were the only thing you were able to pinpoint precisely which only made you more desperate for answers.  
Of course it was all to keep your "fragile", damaged self from having another manic episode before spitting out some actually useful Intel that might help them stop the sadist King of Hell who hunted you before another attack from anymore of his children who while much less powerful had managed to nearly end all your lives already. As it was you were becoming an even bigger liability, you didn't blame them for treating you like a wounded, wild animal, but you still felt a pang of sorrow at the tiny hope you'd had of finding a place to belong once more.

You could feel the cool but comforting feeling of indifference take control of your features and relax your body. You wouldn't be some orphaned waif pining away at the chance to be taken in by the Winchesters because your life had been Hell, literally.

//I won't be some one else's dead weight, I don't need anyone watching my back but me. It's better for all of us any way. Everyone around us winds up dead.// 

You finally stopped making circles on the chipped wooden surface of the dining table with the cardboard bottom of your cup and deliberately set it n the empty tin foil pie container in the middle of the table and one by one lightly tossing your wrapper origami into the trash can next to the counter which was conveniently located between your stoic companions meaning each piece of trash flew past both their heads, directly between their chairs before disappearing with a small yet satisfying thump into the black trash bag lining the rusty white metal can. If you'd believed in God you would have thanked him for your luck, totally bullshitting your slam dunking abilities had actually paid off and not only did you just show them you weren't the least bit concerned about what they wanted you just proved you weren't to be underestimated. Keep them guessing about what you were really capable of and you'd always have the upper hand.

Trying not to grin like an idiot while your own cheer squad went off in your head at making more than 2 in a row you let the corners of your mouth lift on one side in what you hoped was a confident smirk and lifted your gaze, planning on meeting their dominance with your own instead of averting in submission any longer.

The scene before you almost made your bad ass charade come crashing down in a fit of laughter at the completely polar looks you were receiving after your little show. Ketchup soaked empty wrappers and three empty bottles of beer were strewn around a nearly foot wide radius across the table in front of where Dean sat, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, legs open in a gesture of forced relaxation and while earlier he had been unable to mask his jealousy during your consumption of his last piece of pie it seemed the eldest Winchester was having trouble masking many emotions at the current moment. To make matters worse it was as if he couldn't quite find the right one to go with his thoughts and was stuck with an expression somewhere between begrudging approval, flippant dismissal and a competitive challenging glare making the usually ruggedly handsome blonde look like he might be sick.

Sam on the other hand still had his food in front of him, mostly uneaten, having massacred the lettuce from his salad into nearly unidentifiable green shreds and purple bits of cabbage, the pieces limp and clumped together having been marinating too long in the glistening pepper and spice infused vinaigrette dressing. The lanky brunettes portion of used table space was much smaller not to mention neater. Save the black, square, plastic take out bowl sitting forlornly between his forearms which rested on either side of the dish there were but two drinks side by side to the left of his salad, one half full beer and a half empty plastic bottle of Eos purified mountain water. His head was tilted to the side, brows furrowed slightly, lips slightly parted in question, looking for all the world like a puppy who just heard his human meow like a cat.

Sam recovered himself much faster and just let out a soft chuckle, giving you a slight nod and a barely discernible, "Nice." before shaking his head and turning his attention to his brother who cleared his throat and shrugged nonchalantly and grunted like it was no big deal. 

Right, and you hadn't hurt his feelings when you'd scarfed the last slice of pie when Sam offered it either.

Men.

As if to regain control of the moment Dean finally spoke, his tone bordering condescending,

"Well if you're done showin' off and eatin' our food then lets just get on with this. Since no ones talkin' I'll break the ice, or whatever." You heard a deep sigh and could seen Sam giving you what seemed to be an apologetic look out of the corner of your vision but didn't take your eyes off his brother, getting no small amount of pleasure out of the way you firmly meeting his gaze was obviously ruffling his feathers.

Big Bad Dean Winchester didn't like to be shown up.

Your inner alpha wolf growled.  
This was turning out to be fun.

Sam settled back in his chair hiding his smile from his brother, waiting for the sparks to fly.  
It was about time someone - OTHER than himself, put Dean in check.  
And damn it felt great to watch his older brother finally being the one to get a taste of his own medicine.


	20. I can see through you, see the real you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean speaks his mind and you are given an unexpected glimpse into his heart as the three of you attempt to get answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love ya'll. Hope you enjoy and more to come shortly (really, I got 3/4 a chapter after and found a way to finally create documents without using just email, so I have spell check, formatting etc. which I hated not having access to). Life can keep trying to get me down (broken bones, death of loved ones, sickness, assault, working overtime etc.) and I'll still keep getting right back up and doing what I love best, writing. Sorry things have delayed me for so long. You're all amazing. 
> 
> ~Em

After holding Dean's gaze defiantly for longer than necessary you gave the dirty blonde a brief respite, acting as if you'd only averted your eyes out of boredom, in order to stretch languidly in your seat sliding your body forward feet first and reaching up above your head hands clasped fingers laced palms turned up towards the ceiling and groaning at the unexpected relief that your movement brought your lower spine and legs stiff from the wooden chair. 

In order to maintain the presence of control you let out a deep breath immediately after your noise of appreciation and finished you're stretching with a couple overly lazy circles of your neck and shoulders before sitting up straight in your seat to let your vertebrae realign before placing your bare elbows on the semi cleared tabletop in front of you letting your scarred, lightly bandaged hands rest on the cold, hard, wooden surface your fingertips meeting in the middle forming a steeple. The points of your fingers lined up perfectly with the eldest Winchester who watched your deliberate, relaxing motions with poorly veiled indignation and contempt.  

He tried looking bored but the tense line of his shoulders betrayed him. 

Waiting for him to once more answer your challenging gaze you killed the time by flexing your abused fingers on each hand. 

Still he relented, stubborn son of a bitch. 

Closing one hand in a tight fist and placing your other hand over the top of your knuckles so the tips of your fingers brushed the back of your hand you carefully squeezed your enclosed fist with the palm of your uppermost hand taking on the air of a damn lawyer waiting for his clients confession.  Waiting, expectant and patient.  If he thought he could make you give up he was going to be sorely disappointed. 

When those unusually dark green eyes finally locked with your own emotionally color-enhanced stare you could just begin to make out the agitated clench of his jaw in your peripheral vision and your sharp ears caught the quiet but insecure tapping of his foot against the checkered linoleum tile. 

He was surely on his way to a right fine aggravated frenzy. 

As mentally empowering as this little charade was, or had been, you noted then that incurring the wrath of Dean Winchester by challenging his weakness wasn't very fair. 

Or productive. 

That being said you couldn't help but let out a semi exasperated sigh as you ordered yourself to take a step back from your own emotions, willing your body to relax it's rigid posture and attempting to soften the look in your eyes before you broke into the hostile silence, hoping your still damaged and unfamiliar voice portrayed less dominance then you had been exuding.

"Okay look let's start over.  We all obviously have a lot on our minds, and of the three of us it seems Sam is the only one who seems to play well with others..."

That remark won you a small smile of agreement from the brunette to your right, encouraged you continued,

"I acknowledge I am in your territory here, and apologize for challenging your authority when I am simply your guest.  So, please, you go first." 

It definitely rubbed your the wrong way acquiescing to anyone so easily but your formality seemed to at least have a positive affect on Sam who rolled out the invisible tension he'd been holding in his broad shoulders and eased back into his own chair, turning his full attention on his brother, waiting for what he hoped would be a similarly cool-headed response.  

Leave it to Dean to hold a grudge.

"Really?  Now you want to know what I think huh?" he cocked his head to the side and glanced at the clean space of table that previously held your meal,

"You sure you're not still hungry?  I mean, we wouldn't want to rush you."

The retort stung, probably more than he'd intended it to causing you to pull your body away from the table, pressing your slight frame back against your chair and wishing you could just melt into the wood and disappear.  

Rational thought would have deduced that the jab had less to do with your appetite than anything else but your hyper sensitive, anxious mind made the comment personal, feeding off your own insecurities.  Even after Lucifer had starved and beat you into hardly more than a pile of bones with bruised, blood soaked flesh the only thing holding you together the other Hunter was still going to give you shit for eating too much?!  

 You averted your eyes and crossed your arms around your torso, hugging yourself painfully tight to avoid giving away the slight tremors that had started in your hands and willing yourself to quit being so easily hurt.  

It didn't matter what Dean Winchester thought of you.  

It shouldn't.  

After everything you'd been through it suddenly seemed incredibly absurd to allow mere words to affect you as they once had.  

You found your brow furrowing in thought and glanced back at the two men just in time to witness Sam elbow his brother none-too-gently in the ribs, the movement accompanied by a sharp and meaningful look.  He'd obviously sensed your discomfort and was yet again attempting to come to your rescue.  

Not surprisingly however Dean merely responded with a brooding glare of his own which Sam then parried with a incredulous and expectant stare.  By the fluidity of their response to one another you guessed the two of them must have had many silent arguments with only facial expressions and if the situation hadn't been so serious you would have laughed at the comicality of the entire moment.  

 

Finally, seeming to have lost the argument the green eyed Hunter suddenly threw up his hands dramatically, 

"Alright whatever!  I guess I'll be the one to break the ice or whatever." he grumbled, though his tone suggested he had pulled that term out of left field and would rather be doing anything other than sitting around talking about the problems at hand. 

 

The knots in your gut began to unwind allowing the rational part of you to resurface, coaxing yourself out of your defensive posture, aware now that the prior remark was merely made out of frustration at being here doing nothing while there were urgent matters to be addressed in person.  You imagined he must have been much more comfortable out in the field, with cold steel in his hand and a target for him to focus on than he was being stuck here playing house, waiting for you to regain your strength enough to start giving them the answers they hoped you had 

Always the mediator Sam Winchester cleared his throat, intending to take over the lead before Dean made anymore attempts to sound like he knew what he was doing, fully aware that beginning conversations with others, rather than interrogating them was not (and never had been) the easiest thing for his brother. 

"What he means to say is-"  

You'd been slowly regaining your earlier composure and silently urging yourself to get back in the game, prove you were every bit as competent and able a Hunter as either of your Hosts instead of letting random, insignificant things rattle you and were actually starting to feel like you could do just that when Dean exploded again, abruptly cutting off Sam's explanation with an angry wave of his hand, eyes fixed harshly on you, voice taking on an all too familiar tone of accusation, 

"Forget this peace keeping bullshit!  We can talk nice all day and never get anywhere cause no one wants to be the one makin' people feel bad."

While he had a point you still flinched at the anger building up in him again, wishing you weren't the source of his animosity.  

"I want answers!  And all we’ve gotten is a whole lot more questions since we picked you up, and now here we are eating pie and hanging out like a bunch of old school mates acting like we aren’t fixin’ to go to war with the Devil himself and that we didn’t all nearly fucking die on the way here in the first place!  I'm not gonna try to sugar coat the situation we are all in here, it won’t do any of us any good.  I have a feeling you know more about this mess than you've told us, specially since things just keep gettin' weirder the longer we're acquainted." 

He ended with a decisive nod of his chin and crossed his arms pointedly waiting for you to respond.  

But it wasn't his body language that caught your attention, it was his eyes.  Locked within those emerald orbs there shined so many emotions.  Emotions that must have been caged and locked away so tightly for so long that not even the iron will of Dean Winchester could keep them silenced any longer.  Boiling to the surface you saw pain, resentment, loneliness, despair, self doubt, hunger, insecurity, guilt and fear.  

All emotions you yourself felt and struggled to keep hidden and in seeing these you now found yourself empathizing with him.  So much for maintaining the dominant position with the two of them.  You saw a small, broken piece of yourself mirrored in his concealed agony and it suddenly felt wrong to challenge him when you knew from experience how much the war he’d fought within himself had to have taken so much out of him all these years.  

Suddenly the two of them seemed very much like lost boys and much less like a couple of seasoned Hunters determined to get to the bottom of the mystery at hand.  What a great team you three made.  Scared, angry, emotionally damaged children thrown together by fate and here determined to save the world.  


	21. More Questions than Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three Hunters finally begin asking the questions they are all wondering and the Winchesters learn some dark truths about the new Hunter that hit close to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, as always thanks for your patience lovlies.   
> I have discovered Google Docs and can now spellcheck and format my chapters AS I WRITE without having a computer! *gasp* So happy.   
> I've been rereading previous chapters for reference in the current ones and I apologize for all the grammatical errors! I didn't realize how bad some of the chapters were! <3 Love you all! I promise if any of you are getting bored with our beloved characters merely talking there will be some more interesting and action filled chapters soon.   
> Thank you for all your Kudos and I love your commentary! <3
> 
> ~Em~

"I don't blame either of you for wanting an easy answer to all of this.   
But **_I_** am not the missing piece of this fucked.up.puzzle.”   
You met each of their weighted gazes steadily, hoping to show them the honesty of your words.   
  
“You’re right Dean.”   
You chose to ignore the sardonic eyebrow raise he gave you and continued,

“I have already caused more questions than I've given in answers.   
I’m sure it’s beyond frustrating to have come to the aid of someone you thought to be a key Witness to your Case and upon meeting me realized your ‘key witness’ was just a   
strange Hunter who’s mind was just as wrecked as their body.”

There was an uncomfortable clearing of throats and Dean managed to look slightly apologetic before looking down at his hands which he’d folded uncomfortably in his lap.

Turning to Sam you found him watching you carefully, grateful to find no judgement on his handsome face and only warmth and intelligence within the hazel depths of his eyes.   
Despite his brother's reaction of discomfort the tall young man merely nodded his head slightly in encouragement and it gave you the strength to go on without dwelling on the   
feelings that threatened to choke you with the memory that came with the words you had spoken.

“Even so, you still risked your lives when you decided to get me out of that whitewashed prison and bring me with you for my own safety. Yet the only gratitude I have shown is to   
cause even more trouble for you. We all nearly died on the way here and I can’t even guess who attacked us because I have so many enemies… _we all do_ , that guessing right now   
wouldn’t do any damn good it would just waste our time. **You** have questions and **I** have questions and--”   
you paused to scoff at the absurdity of the whole situation and shook your head, finally glancing away from the Winchesters and staring momentarily at the dark wooden planks of   
the ceiling, frustrated with your inability to provide them with anything.

“ _ **Hell** _ \- I don’t even know _if I have any answers_ or know _where to start looking for them._ "

Dean cleared his throat again and adjusted himself in his seat, leaning back and casually crossing one leg over the other, resting a large booted foot atop the faded, denim covered   
knee of his opposite leg and asking in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner,

“So out on the road... you had nothing to do with the…” he paused, searching for the word he hoped would come off the least accusatory and settled on “incident?”

The sandy blonde could tell by the stiffening of his brothers shoulders and the brief flash of resentment that marred the young female Hunters features that he’d picked the wrong   
damn word again and tried not to growl at his lack of finesse in such situations.

Thankfully for him that instant of emotion was the only sign you gave that he’d offended you. Instead of defending yourself with a sharp retort you found yourself more shocked   
than angry.

_How in the world could you have planned such an attack and carried it out without them catching on between the hospital and the many miles of highway you’d traveled?_

_**They** were supposed to be the **best Hunters** out there weren’t they?_

_And why on earth would you have nearly mortally wounded yourself in the process?_

_What would you have gained by working with their enemies when you yourself were running from the very same enemies??_

All the adrenaline from your show down performance with Dean and maintaining an air of confident control had drained from your body and the weight of your conversation only left   
you feeling nearly as exhausted as you'd been before your exquisite meal. After a deep sigh you held out your hands in defeat,

"All I have for you essentially are words. Words to express my gratitude, and words to vouch for my own innocence. Because there's no one left to testify for me but me.”   
You swallowed a painful lump in your throat and thanked whatever gods there may be that your voice stayed strong as you admitted to the men before you,

“My family. All of my family, is dead.”

  
The void inside you’d been hoping might wane remained fully intact even as you shared the information that up until now you’d refused to admit aloud to anyone, even the shadow in the   
mirror. You’d foolishly hoped it might bring some relief, instead you felt even more hollow and you finished speaking quietly,

“Unfortunately we didn't deal with many other hunters who could come to my defense either, and my mother was the only one who met any of them in person."

You turned your body in your seat so that your legs hung over one side, leaning your least wounded shoulder up against the hard backing of the chair and resting the side of your forehead   
gently on the smooth, cool wood. You ran a thin hand over the top of your head your fingers fidgeting with the multi-length strands of your badly hacked haircut, not caring how awful you   
must look anymore., for how much lower an opinion of you could they really have?

Once more saving Dean from an awkward attempt at sympathy Sam spoke up gently,  
“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through so much. We both know how hard it is to lose your parents. Yet we have always had each other, I can’t imagine not having Dean with me and facing the   
things we have faced.”

The eldest Hunter gave a decisive nod in agreement and remained silent but seemed to lose some of his surliness, relaxing his posture even more.

“We don’t believe you are an enemy.” Sam continued, glancing at his brother with a look you couldn’t read. Your chest swelled with relief and yet you still found yourself wondering what   
it was in his tone that made you feel like there was a “but” coming on.

The young men seemed to be having a silent conversation and you couldn’t help but interrupt the moment blurting into the quiet,

“ _ **But**_ what?!?”

You managed an apologetic look at the both of them and more politely said,   
“I’m sorry. I mean… If I’m not a threat, but you still believe I had something to do with what happened… I don’t understand.”

As if coming to an agreement they both nodded to the other and fixed their gazes on again, both intense and serious. Once more Sam took the lead,

“I believe it’s safe to say that you are unaware that you have… abilities. Powers. Am I right?”

Sam's gentle voice filled the gloomy silence, his tone calm and reasonable while the question itself seemed about as absurd as anything you’d ever been asked in your entire life.   
Your head swiveled sharply to the side, regarding him questioningly, your gaze flickering to Dean when you saw the look of earnest honesty on the younger brothers face.

Unfortunately Dean seemed to be suddenly wearing his semi grouchy poker face and you found no answer there as to whether or not they were playing some kind of joke on you.

He couldn’t really be serious… right?

You let out a half-laugh into the suddenly weird silence and were met with only more silence as Sam waited patiently with a look of complete sincerity and   
polite expectancy and Dean regarded you with unnerving interest.


End file.
